The Wife Didn't Do It
by scousemuz1k
Summary: There have been many good stories where Gibbs takes someone else's word over Tony's, but I couldn't resist adding my take on it. When both of them believe they're in the right...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I freely admit that I'm writing of bureaucracy I know little about here; I've done my research to the best of my ability, but if I'm waffly and vague at any point it's because I can't be more accurate, not because I don't want to.**

**I've had valuable help and advice from The Nagging Cube, for which I'm sincerely grateful. She suggests that I mention before we begin, that the story concerns Traumatic Brain Injury, its effects and consequences. If this distresses you, I apologise, and please do stop reading now.**

**Takes place before Ellie's arrival. **

The Wife Didn't Do It

by scousemuz1k

The scene flickering on the TV behind the bar showed a fine morning, outside JAG headquarters at Falls Church. The woman walking away from the building had a microphone from a national media company thrust at her, rudely as was the usual method of reporters.

"Mrs Childs, did Jag agree to look at your claims?"

Another intrusive piece of national plastic joined it. "Will JAG take up your case?"

The woman, whose birth certificate said she was thirty-four, but who appeared maybe ten years older, especially in the bright, bleaching sunshine, and despite a hopeful dab of make-up and her best clothes, looked bleakly at the reporters.

"Where were you when Cass was alive and needed your support?" She turned sharply and walked away, followed closely only by one team from a local, Virginia company, although the nationals could be seen trailing along in the background.

"Susie," the local front-man asked more gently, "_did_ you have any luck?"

Susannah Childs stopped walking and faced the camera. She took a deep breath. "Yes, Rob. Thanks to the help of the Veterans Association," she said slowly, "the Judge Advocate General's office has consented to look at the material I've presented. I believe them to be unbiased, and I can only hope that they'll see there's something to be investigated about how my husband's patrol came under fire where and when they did. Whether they'll be able to do anything is another story, but I'm more hopeful."

"And have you been able to arrange Lucas's funeral yet?"

The widowed woman's composure almost deserted her, but she took a deep breath and said desolatey, "No, Rob, I still haven't been able to find out where he _is_."

The camera followed her as she walked away, as a voice-over said, "Mrs Child's husband was the only survivor of a USMC patrol that came under fire in an area of Helmand known as 'watch-your-back park', which was thought to be under US control." A picture that was becoming quite well known, at least on the Virginia news channel, flashed up – a handsome, tanned man with sunbleached hair, in combat dress, "First Lieutenant Childs was repatriated with severe head and other injuries; he died at his home six months later, five weeks ago. Mrs Childs, and others, believe there are inconsistencies in the accounts of the circumstances that led to the deaths of five Marines and Lieutenant Childs injuries, and have been asking for an investigation. So far these requests have been deemed unnecessary."

Mrs Childs was shepherded into a car that pulled up, by a tall, iron-grey haired man who walked with a limp and a stick, and was driven away. The program moved on.

"Aaah... lying bitch," a voice hissed softy, and Gibbs, reaching for his coffee order, paused to see who was speaking.

"What d'you mean?" he asked curiously, and then paused again, his eyes crinkling with a smile of pleasure. "Jack? Jack Fulford?"

"Gibbs? Gibbs!" The big, florid-faced man instantly offered a beefy hand. "Looking good, Jethro – I hear you're with the feds these days?"

"You hear right... NCIS. Damn, it's good to see you. What are _you_ doin'? Something on the hill, by the looks of you." He indicated the man's impeccable city suit.

"Oh yeah, eastern bloc analyst at the Pentagon. It pays the bills... puts the weight on..." he patted his comfortable paunch. "I was on my way over to an early meeting with the District Commandant, parked my car, found I was _really_ early, I mean, who calls a meeting for eight am?"

Gibbs grinned evilly. "Anyone in the military. You should remember! What's early at the Pentagon? Elevenses?"

Jack smiled ruefully. "Hell, something like that. I call it flexi-hours... I looked for coffee – I see you're still an addict – hey, ran into you of all people."

Gibbs grinned again at his old buddy from the Corps. "No problem finding me here... creature of habit – I come in every morning on my way in – unless we've got a case and I'm in a hurry. It's a wonder I don't meet more old friends sooner or later." He paused, frowned and asked again, "So, what _did_ you mean? You know her?"

Jack Fulford winced. "Ouch... didn't mean to be overheard... I don't use language like that. Not since the Corps. _You_ remember, I didn't even have much of a mouth then!" He gave Gibbs a boyish smile that made the other former Marine remember how well they'd got along in those days, and how little he bothered to keep in touch with good friends now. His loss.

"Look," Fulford went on ruefully, " just forget I spoke, OK?"

The investigator in Gibbs wasn't going to do any such thing. "You said she was lying," he persisted. "She didn't look like she was."

"She wouldn't. She's a damn good actress. Very smart lady. She'd break your heart, the cold witch."

Gibbs was thoroughly intrigued. "You mean she's not really after justice – what she sees as justice – for her husband?"

"I mean," Jack Fulford said heavily, "that _she_ killed him. I mean that she didn't want to look after him anymore, and she killed him. In cold blood. I don't know why she's making a fuss, it's drawing attention to her... I guess she thinks she'll get compensation at the end of all this. She's after money. Her and all the other ones."

Gibbs looked at him in horror. "And you know all this how, Jack?"

Fulford looked awkward. "Ahh... well, that's why I said forget it...speaking out of turn... I can't exactly tell you, Jethro. Analysts talk to each other, you know?" He sighed, anger vibrating out of him like sound waves. "I knew Luke Childs fifteen years ago when he was a young WO in my Task Force, saw the potential even then. He was a First Lieutenant when he was wounded; had his own squad, was about ready to be made up to Captain. When I heard he'd been repatriated I looked into things to see if there was any way I could help."

He glanced round, and although there didn't seem to be anyone listening, he put his hand under Gibbs' elbow and steered him towards the entrance. Outside he stopped and faced his old friend again.

"My – er, sources... well, I found out that Mrs Childs had refused to put her husband into residential care – insisted she could do a better job. Way I heard it, her better job had him losing weight, and covered in bruises... She'd joined a bunch of rabble-rousers trying to say something had gone wrong in Helmand and got them all killed. How's that looking after her husband? She should have been at home with him if that was what she'd chosen. Her father was helping her, she said, man of sixty. Shouldn't have been expected to do a physical job like that. He died, and surprise, surprise, a fortnight later, when she's found she can't do it on her own, her husband's found dead in his bed."

"What killed him?"

"Jethro, I haven't been able to find that out... their family doctor _very kindly_ arranged to have Lieutenant Childs' body taken to the local mortuary in an ambulance, rather than calling the coroner's men – but he was no sooner there than the Department of Veterans Affairs hurried in and took charge of the remains. They're being secretive about why, makes you wonder, doesn't it? _They_ suspected something."

"It's a big jump to saying she killed him, Jack," Gibbs said dubiously. It wasn't that he disbelieved his friend; but it was a huge assumption.

"Yeah," Jack said bitterly. "One of my sources heard her say, to _dear Julia_, one of her trouble-making friends, that he 'was fading', and that it 'was so easy to hurt him,' – and at that point he stopped listening because he didn't want to hear her say anything even worse. Look... you saw the guy driving the car she got into?"

"Hard to see him – the other guy outside the car now, he looked like a vet."

"Yeah, both of them are from the Veterans Association. The older guy's the area co-ordinator, Bill Towb, the younger guy, the driver, his name's Dave Lord. She spends a lot of time in his company apparently; was already doing before her husband died." He snorted. "Poor guy would have died sooner rather than later, I should think. All she had to do was wait... Jethro, I've said more than I should already. The bitch killed him." He glanced at his watch. "Like I said, forget it. I should get to my meeting... Hey, we shouldn't be strangers; I'll get in touch, meet up for a drink some time."

He hurried away.

Gibbs walked slowly, deep in thought. He'd encountered it so many times he should have been hardened, and mostly he was; people killed by their spouses, for love, hate, rage, jealousy, greed... or lazy, calculated hard-heartedness. _'It was so easy to hurt him'_; his blood ran cold, recalling the words. A defenceless man at the mercy of a woman who didn't want to be bothered with him. Jack had uncovered something very nasty, and he was going to have to talk to his old friend again and worm more out of him. In the meantime, he was going to have a word with Mrs Susannah Childs.

As he strode out of the elevator, his Senior Field Agent raised a curious eyebrow. _You're ten minutes late, Boss, want to tell us why? No... whatever. _"Morning, Boss." Gibbs grunted, and replied to Tim's similar greeting with, "McGee. Everything you can find on First Lieutenant Lucas Childs." He threw himself down in his office chair with a glare at the world that said, _and leave me alone_.

Tony regarded his boss seriously for a moment; it was clear that something was mega-bugging him, and just as clear that he wasn't going to say anything. After a glance at Tim to make sure he was comfortable, he minimised the window he'd been using, and opened a general search on the name, pretty certain that Tim would be starting from a detailed military standpoint.

The first link that came up, and it was at the top of a long list, was a news report. Five Marines on patrol had been killed in Helmand province, Afghanistan, in an area which was generally thought to be under US control, but where insurgents were sometimes encountered. The patrol leader, First Lieutenant Lucas Childs, was the only survivor, had been gravely injured, and would be repatriated as soon as he was made well enough to travel.

Tony looked for another report to discover if that had happened, and there encountered his first odd fact about the whole sad business. Many media companies took up the story of the five coffins that were carried down from a Hercules with all due military dignity, but not another thing could he discover about the lieutenant, not even a report of his death. Indeed, the only way he knew that Lucas Childs had died was when he found a Virginia company's video report on a group of widows, those of the men who had died, and the newly bereaved Susie Childs, attempting to speak to an official outside the Department of Veterans Affairs imposing building in Manhattan.

They were unsuccessful, and as the camera followed them as they moved away, the report was concluded by a freeze frame of Mrs Childs looking directly into the lens. The expression captured there was, to Tony, heartbreaking and chilling; that of a young woman, made old, on whose face bleak, desperate grief warred for dominance with bitter anger. The director had clearly chosen that shot as it told far more than any report possibly could.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs was in front of his desk and in his face. "Did I tell you or McGee to find me that information?"

"McGee, Boss," Tony said levelly. Now maybe he'd find out what was on Gibbs' mind. The Marine caught the unrepentant note in his SFA's voice, and given what _was_ on his mind just then, it didn't go down a bundle.

"So why are you doing it?"

"Because something's getting to you, Boss, and I'd rather have your six than not."

"Ya mean you're not just nosy?"

"I've never been _just_ nosy, Boss. My nosiness, legendary as it is, has always been for a reason."

Not a glimmer of a smile. Gibbs grunted. "With me." He started for the elevator, barking "Let me know what you find" over his shoulder at Tim, and then lost a small scrap of his dignity when he realised he hadn't picked up his cell phone. He lost a larger scrap as he turned back, only to have Tony hand it to him. The elevator ride was silent. So was the walk to the car. So was the journey.

Finally, as they turned south onto highway 495, and now he had something to say, Tony broke the silence. When he and Gibbs were alone in a vehicle, he never felt, after all, that there was a vacuum to fill, to protect anyone else from the bear.

"Annandale," he said thoughtfully. "Where Mrs Childs lives." Gibbs gave him an irritated, '_ya think'_ look, and he had no idea why.

"Yeah, we're going to see Susannah Childs," he finally agreed.

"Susie."

"_What_?"

"On the news... they call her Susie. Why are we going to see her? Hey... you think what she said needs investigating?"

Gibbs just gave him a 'don't be dense, figure it out' look and snorted. He knew he was being unfair; Tony hadn't heard the horrifying tale of neglect and murder that he had, or seen Jack Fulford buzzing with righteous anger. Any chance Fulford was wrong? Not a one – Jack was a good guy, and had never been prone to fanciful thinking in the Corps, nevertheless he was going to get more information on those sources – how many other mean and despicable things hadn't seen the light of day over the years? He didn't answer; and Tony just settled down in his seat. It was no problem, the Boss was in a strop, it'd happened before, like how many times? But he wasn't playing Gibbs' game, he'd tried already to lighten the mood and failed; enough.

Gibbs had expected Mrs Childs, _Susie_ he thought bitterly, to be back from Falls Church ahead of them, and said so bad temperedly; (Tony didn't ask how he knew that was where she'd gone,) but when a polite knock produced no response, they decided they'd wait. Her house was family sized, white rendered, a bit much for a First Lieutenant's pay, but pleasant, and in a quiet back street. On the drive sat a tall all-purpose Nissan, which they both observed as they walked back past it, was kitted out to take a wheelchair.

"Built like a tank," Tony said quietly. "Safe, but heavy on gas. No wonder she didn't use it to get to JAG."

"She went with company, DiNozzo."

_Well, Boss... a little more information earlier would have been nice... _They got back into the car, and Tony was just taking a deep breath to voice his thoughts, politely of course, when the grey sedan that Gibbs had seen earlier on the news clip came round the corner and stopped behind the APV. Gibbs frowned. Mrs Childs was wearing scruffy jeans and a baggy shirt, not the business suit she'd worn to visit JAG, and he found himself wondering where she'd changed.

There was only one person in the car with her, younger than the man he'd seen on the news, and he watched their interaction closely. She didn't lean over and kiss the man before getting out of the car, however, and only gave him a half smile and what they lip-read as 'thanks', before she turned up the drive and the car pulled away. Gibbs shrugged internally. Well, maybe that wasn't the same guy, or maybe the neighbours were too observant.

Susannah dug around in her tote-bag for her front door key, and opened the door to let herself into the house, but paused as she saw the two men stepping out of the official looking car and crossing the road towards her. She waited, her face set in a neutrally polite expression. Gibbs saw a mask; Tony saw iron control. After they'd introduced themselves, she led them towards the house.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Not really," Gibbs said with steely politeness. "Although we expected you back from Falls Church before this."

"Falls Church? I went there _yesterday_. I've been down to the VA this morning to help them deal with a flood they had during the night. I do things for them when I can; they did such a lot for Cass." She pointed to her car. "Had to get a lift again, Tank needs a new fuel injector unit." They followed her indoors.

The place was neat and spotlessly clean, and made Tony think of bad days when he'd dress and groom himself to absolute perfection as armour against the world. The only things out of place were a cardboard box on the floor, with tissue paper snowing all around it, and a dozen or so photos in frames, on the coffee table and the sofa. Mrs Childs gave an apologetic half-smile and moved the pictures from the settee to the arm of a chair so they could sit down.

"Packing the family photos away, Mrs Childs?" Gibbs asked, and the woman blinked, startled by the not very veiled hostility in his tone. (Tony hoped his own sharp intake of breath was silent.)

"I'm putting them _back_, Special Agent Gibbs," she said mildly. "They were upsetting Cass and I had to take them down." She pointed to the leg of the piano, which had some heavy dents and scrapes on it. "He did that with his wheelchair to try to make them fall down, so I took them down for him. I don't know how much longer I'll be here," Tony frowned slightly at what he heard there, "but while I am, I want to remember when there were happier times."

"They upset him? I thought he was –" Gibbs broke off, not knowing how to put it, but Susannah got his drift without difficulty.

"He wasn't a vegetable, Agent Gibbs!" Her eyes and her tone were a bit hot. "Everything that had made him the very intelligent man he was, was still _there._ The problem was, it was completely scrambled. He couldn't string his thoughts together..." She picked up a photo of the two of them, standing in a small sailing boat, holding hands, waving up at the camera, tanned and laughing. "I'd see him reaching for an idea," she said sadly. "I'd hope. I'd _pray_ – that _this_ time would be the time when a neural pathway miraculously repaired itself. I'd been told it wouldn't, but I still hoped... it never did... he'd lose it, and yell and scream for frustration, because he knew he'd been something greater than he was... it was hell, really."

"Hell enough to make you want to help him out of it?"

Tony said, "Boss!" in a shocked tone. Susannah didn't say anything for a moment, just sat and looked at the photo in her hand. Finally, she said quietly to her husband's image, "And I thought things couldn't get any worse." She looked up, eyes really blazing this time, stood up and faced him down where he sat on the sofa. "Go to hell, Special Agent Gibbs," she said in a soft, level voice that was more powerful than a scream would have been, "and take that bastard Jack Fulford with you."

**AN: Much Tony-Gibbs angst to come – I love it...**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I had a few very valid critical points made to me in the reviews to chapter 1. A guest said that Tony would communicate with his eyes, rather than criticising Gibbs in front of someone else. Very true, and I debated over it, but when I realised there were four points in favour from the point of view of progressing the story, and only one against, I just went ahead and did it anyway...**

**Both Jesco and Stareagle pointed out that Gibbs was acting very out of character in just going on someone's word, breaking one of his own rules, and assuming. On reflection, perhaps I should have made more of that, because yes, he certainly was. But I've done it, so I'm going to have to run with it!**

The Wife Didn't Do it

Chapter 2

Jack Fulford glared at his phone, but called the required number anyway.

"Jack," the voice was, as usual, pleasant and urbane, "I thought you were playing hard to get."

"I'm right in the middle of the Navy Yard," Fulford protested. "I had to get back to my car and shut myself in; this is a conversation I don't want overheard!"

"And...?"

"He was there, just as you said he'd be. The news item played just when you said it would – I don't know who in the media owes you a favour, but it worked; he was a little late coming to the counter, but I got round that." Somebody did owe the man a favour... there hadn't been a whisper of Lucas Childs in the national media from the first report of the shooting until Susie and her friends had started making waves.

"But did you convince him? Because _I'm_ still not convinced that going for someone as experienced as Gibbs was a good idea..."

"I told you – Gibbs has a trigger, and I know what it is. I used it. He'll make life difficult for her because he believes she deserves it."

"And when he can't find any proof?"

"I'm sure you'll have found some other way to make her keep quiet by then."

The voice affected shock. "Jack... you're not suggesting physical violence?"

"No," Fulford almost yelled. "And if _you_ are, don't ask me, no matter what I owe you."

His listener chuckled. "Heavens, no. I only ask what I know people are capable of. Driving her insane, Jack, now that's right up your conniving little alley."

Jack took the insult without comment, since he had no choice. "When will you ever consider the debt paid?"

"When I'm done with you, Jack. Just keep on doing what you're doing, I hear she's reaching her limit." The call disconnected.

Fulford banged his head against the car seat, and breathed deeply. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, and running down his back. He hated the guy... for being right and everything else. Point a gun and shoot someone down? Jack had been a marine, but he still couldn't do that. Drive them to breakdown... possibly...oh God... suicide, because someone else told him to? Oh yes, damn his once noble, now degenerate soul, he could do that, and would, because he was too scared not to.

He made a mental list – he knew it off by heart by now... One: Threw a spanner in the works with her application to practise veterinary medicine in the USA by informing the AVMB that she's qualified in Munich, which was true, so her language might be suspect, which wasn't. She was Canadian, and had practised in both English and French right up until moving over the border to buy the house in Annandale with her husband. So now she was almost broke.

Two: Pointed out to the DVA that Mrs Childs couldn't need the money to install hoists in her home because she'd already done it when she put in the request. They'd stumped up for the vehicle before he could find a way to prevent that, (it always had to be through a reliable third party, his name must never be used. _She_ knew it though... damn Bill Towb,) but Three: when he'd found out it needed an expensive new part, he'd made sure the dealer understood it had to come from Japan, and take a long time about it – oh, and cost a fortune when it finally arrived.

Four: His machinations had ensured that Lucas Childs' body had been removed from the county coroner's jurisdiction, but the DVA didn't actually know that they had it; only one well bribed mortuary assistant did. As with any unexplained death, there would have to be an autopsy before the remains were released to the family, and Susannah Childs had been waiting five desperate weeks.

He stopped listing at that point although there were so many other mean, petty little things; his soul shrank a little more with each day he lived this nightmare – and now he'd involved and deceived a decent friend, knowing exactly how to do it, and not hesitating.

It had been so easy to fall into temptation... more than fifteen years ago... guarding a new, secret prototype... so easy, when asked, to photograph it... give a rival an edge... and no-one had ever known. That was, until the first time the urbane voice had greeted him on the phone and the nightmare had begun.

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs didn't stand up, and Mrs Childs made no move to sit down. Tony hoped the Boss hadn't heard his shocked exclamation but he knew not a chance of that; anyway, if Gibbs was mad at him, he was madder, and there were going to be some words in the car on the way back... He was thinking he'd have to do or say something, and hadn't a clue what, when the house phone shrilled, and Susie moved to answer it. "Dave? Did it? Oh good. _**How**__ much?_ You know I can't. Hell, I just want to give it back so someone else can use it. But I can't really if it's broken down, can I? There's good news? Really? _Really_? That I _can_ afford. He will? Whoo... I'll owe him a beer. You're a pal, Dave. So's he. Bye."

"Dave?" Gibbs asked. "Dave Lord?"

Susie came back over and sat down again among her photos. "_Jack_ tell you that? Dave's a friend, so are all the other men and women at the VA. He found out how much the part for the car's going to cost, tracked down a second-hand one for a quarter the price, and he's getting Danny-the-tank-mechanic to come round and fit it for me. Just so's you know, Dave's married, honest and honourable, and wouldn't chase a CORPS widow for plain common sense even if he weren't."

She paused and took a deep breath. "To answer your original question. Did I kill him?" She hunched over her pictures. "I've looked into that abyss, of course I have. So did my Dad. So did Cass. And it's a dark, dreadful place to even peer over the edge of."

Tony found his voice. "What do you mean?"

"Ghouls," the widow said, "in the form of well-meaning friends..." her voice took on a mocking, gossipy tone. "That poor girl... I don't know how she stands it, living with that wreck! The scratches, the bruises, the lack of sleep... I wouldn't blame her... _nobody_ could blame her, if one night she got the morphine dose mixed up... it'd be kinder for him too..."

Her voice returned to normal and she glared at Gibbs again. "I'll tell you what I told them. You haven't the faintest bloody idea what you're talking about. I didn't _care_ about the bruises. He lost half his stomach and a chunk of his intestine... he kept pulling the nasal tube out and feeding him by mouth took hours just to coax him to eat half a sandwich. He was losing weight all the time, and all his muscles were wasted. _He_ bruised more easily than I did; he bruised like an eighty year old! I couldn't lift him into his chair without leaving another one, no matter how careful I was... it was _so_ damn easy to hurt him, no matter how I tried not to! He had new ones over old ones, but still he fought everything I did – I think he just hated me because he was in the chair and I wasn't. He didn't know me... sometimes I'd think there was a glimmer, then it'd go, and he'd be angry...

"But I didn't see a wreck, Special Agent Gibbs! I saw a warrior who'd given everything he had – his health, his marvellous mind, his future, his children... that's why we bought this house, with what I'd saved when I was working in Canada and he was away with the CORPS... to bring up our kids in. He'd lost all that, and so have I. I saw a hero, who gave his all for his country, which rewarded him by turning its back on him. I saw my husband, my beloved Cass, that's what I saw, I'd never, ever have hurt him, and I'd have given anything, anything at all for just one moment of _him_ seeing _me_!"

Again it was Tony who spoke. "You say your Dad thought of it... and Cass did."

She looked hard at him, but it wasn't a glare. She'd heard his surprised '_boss_', which with his tone of voice had suggested he wasn't coming from the same position as the older agent. "My Dad didn't kill him either – he died two weeks before Cass, of a heart attack while lifting him from his chair into his bed."

"So what made you think..."

"One night when I'd put Cass to bed I came out of the bedroom with the makings of a black eye. My Dad looked at the morphine and took a deep breath. I told him I didn't want to hear it, and that was it. And Cass? He couldn't speak much, but one time he messed himself because I couldn't get him onto the commode in time. He sat there in it, and a tear rolled down his cheek. I told him it was OK. He said 'k...ill... me...' I looked at him, and I must have had horror all over my face. I said, 'I can't kill you, Cass, I love you.' He broke my nose. That was when he still had the strength to. Anything else you want to ask me, or has Jack Fulton told you it all already? Like, where is my husband's body?"

Gibbs was unrepentant. Jack had warned him the widow could act, and suddenly he was back to a time so many years ago, when Kelly was only four, and one dreadful time he'd encountered a marine wife who could fool people.

_Joe Bellamy was taking it all on the chin, just as a Marine would. Gibbs got his life history as they flew back from Iraq, Gibbs on leave and Joe invalided out, having lost a chunk of his right foot to a shrapnel bomb. The aircraft was fitted out for hospital use, and was actually quiet enough to talk without bawling yourself hoarse._

"_Could have been worse" he said cheerfully. "Could have been my whole leg, or my brain!" He stomped his temporary prosthetic boot noisily on the floor. "Tin can... I'll be going to Walter Reed before long to get a tailor made one... but hey, I'm going home to my Janie first. She wanted to fly out to Baghdad to be with me, how many wives'd do that? I was afraid she wouldn't want me with a bit missing! Depends which bit, huh, Jethro?"_

_Gibbs went and fetched coffee, grinning over his shoulder._

"_Well," Joe went on, undeterred, when he got back, "they wouldn't let her do that, would they – oh, thanks – truth is, I'd have been worried myself, about her being there. But she wrote me every day... I mean, they'd all arrive at once, but she posted them every day. She says she can't wait to have me back home. Can't wait to see her either, my Janie! She says she'll be waiting at Andrews."_

_Gibbs smiled. Shannon and Kelly were in Stillwater with Jackson, and had offered to make the journey down, but Gibbs had said no, he'd get a rental sent to Andrews base and then drive up to meet them. The journey would be good decompression time. He wasn't fond of taking his job home._

_Janie wasn't at Andrews, and Gibbs waited with a baffled Joe to see if she'd turn up. There was no reply when they called the house phone. "She must be on the way," Joe said chirpily. They waited long enough for her to arrive, and then Gibbs, with a churning in his gut that Joe didn't seem to register, went to fetch his rental. "Come on, Joe, I'll run you home."_

"_Thanks, Jethro! I think she's mixed the day up and gone shopping or something..."_

_Janie's car wasn't on the drive, and after knocking for a while, Gibbs climbed into the house through a back window he prised open. When he opened the front door, Joe stood in the hall, finally looking puzzled and uneasy. _

_The house had a still-air smell, as if no-one had been there for a while. Gibbs sat Joe down and went to look round; there were no women's clothes in any of the closets, or toiletries in the bathroom. When he got back downstairs he found Joe wandering round. He stopped and looked at Gibbs with a dreadful mixture of shock, disbelief and betrayal. "There are things missing..." he said hoarsely. "All the small, valuable things. And... a Shaker Chest – she... she couldn't have lifted it into the car by herself..." His eyes finished the sentence his voice couldn't. "She was pretending," he said after a while. "So she could make a clean getaway. Janie..."_

_The things that had been left were ones with Joe's name – a silver tankard boxing trophy; his hunting rifle with his name punched into the stock. A framed picture of him with some buddies and a camel; the long wall clock with a dedication plate that had been a wedding present from his unit. Joe sank back down into a kitchen chair, while Gibbs coaxed him into thinking who he could call for him. Er... maybe his sister Laura..._

_There wasn't even any coffee in the house... _

"_Laura and her husband are on their way over," he told Joe gently. "They'll be here within the hour. D'you want me to go over to the convenience store and get a few things?"_

_Joe marshalled his wits. "Er... yeah... sure Jethro... that's kind..."_

"_Be right back."_

_Something told him as he went down the drive towards his car that he should turn back, but he heard the cough of the hunting rifle before he'd retraced a step._

_Yeah, he knew about lying, deceitful wives._

"Aren't you in a bit of a rush for the funeral?"

He heard DiNozzo's strangulated noise of disgust in the back of his throat, and glared at him. That was usually enough to silence his second in command, but Tony just gazed levelly back at him. What was up with the guy?

Susannah Childs added insult to injury by snorting derisively. "Five weeks is a rush, Special Agent Gibbs? His friends, and I, want to honour him with a proper, Marine memorial. All the men who died in Watch-your-back Park have had their eulogies spoken, and their salutes fired. What has my husband done to be denied his? To be stuck in a freezer somewhere, freak-only knows where?"

"Needs to be an autopsy first, Miz Childs."

"Ah. And I'm trying to avoid it by 'rushing' the funeral?" The anger in her tone was seething, but completely controlled. "You get Jack bloody Fulford to tell you where he is, since he seems to be a friend of yours, and get the autopsy done. He won't tell you, because it'll prove I never harmed Cass, and he won't be able to hold that over me anymore."

Gibbs got up from the sofa and looked down at her. "Yes, Jack is a friend of mine, and I trust him. I don't like to hear him called names by –"

Susannah waited for a moment before finishing bitterly for him, "By the likes of me; that's what you were going to say. Mind made up. You'd better get used to it – more people than me are going to be calling him names before too long. You can call _me_ what you like, I don't care, and once the truth's found out, once Cass gets his justice, it won't matter to me anyway." Locked eye to eye, neither of them noticed the alarm that flared across Tony's face.

"I'll find the truth out, Miz Childs, whatever you did or didn't do, I'll know it."

She shrugged. "Let me give you a more accurate scenario. You'll investigate, diligently, and when you can't find anything at all to support your theory, you'll tell him so, apologetically, and he'll say 'What? Oh, that. I'd forgotten...' because by then he'll have found some other way of making my life hell."

"And the reason for this would be?"

By now they'd made their way out into the hall. "He wasn't the one who gave the orders that led to that patrol coming under fire. But _he knows who did_. He's working to protect him, and he thinks he'll do it by shutting me up." She sighed and squared her shoulders. "Look, arrest me if you've got something to arrest me about, or just go away." She turned back towards the living room, and Tony turned after her. An irritated _'DiNozzo!' _from the front door was ignored_._

The tall agent looked worriedly down at the pinched face. "You're looking over the edge of the abyss, aren't you?" he asked quietly.

"You picked up on that?" She didn't really sound that surprised. "Mmm, well, you didn't come in here with a guilty verdict in your pocket. Don't concern yourself... I've not actually made up my mind yet. I still have things to do."

Tony nodded thoughtfully as another angry growl came from the front path. "I'll do what I can," he said. "I'll be back." Susannah Childs didn't say anything; her look was the bleak one he'd seen before, but at least she nodded as she went back to her photos. Tony let himself out, closed the door, squared _his_ shoulders as she'd done, and walked unhurriedly back to where his boss sat gunning the fedmobile's big engine.

Gibbs didn't know what had got into DiNozzo, but he was going to squash it right now. And when he'd finished, his SFA had better not even breathe all the way back to DC. Tony's backside was barely on the seat before the Marine exploded.

"DiNozzo, what the _hell_ did you think you were doing?"

The green eyes regarding him were steady, and the voice calm. "Yeah, called you out instead of keeping silent. But then, you've never come out with something as stupid as that before, without warning me first. And believe me, Boss, you had better not do it ever again, because if you do, I'll do more than call you out."

Gibbs did something Tony had never seen before – his jaw dropped open.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I don't own NCIS, or JAG, from which I've borrowed Bud Roberts. I like Bud, it's the second time I've borrowed him for a story. (Oonagh's Faith, where Tony also needed a favour.)**

**I don't know what the correct wording is in the US military, so I've used 'at ease' which is the English equivalent.**

The Wife Didn't Do It

Chapter 3

"_You'll_ do more..." Gibbs said finally. "I'm questioning a suspect, and you _disagree_ with me? You _let her know _you disagree with me, and now you're criticising my action? Stupid, huh? And you'd do more than that? What the hell does that mean? You forgotten which of us is in charge, DiNozzo?" It ended up quite loud in the close confines of the car, and Gibbs realised he was hurting even his own ears. Never mind, no way would DiNozzo yell back. What the hell was up with him?

Tony didn't yell. "Well," he said consideringly, "there's the first problem, Boss. Suspect. Questioning. We both know why we're doing it when we arrest a suspect, take them back to the Yard, stick them in an interrogation room, and _then_ we can do the questioning, and be as rude as we like. We don't walk into a bereaved person's house, one of us with some sort of a beef, the other not knowing a damn thing because he _hasn't been told_ – and proceed to accuse her of murder. OK, maybe stupid was a bit harsh... although it got your attention. Try ill-judged, then. Try intemperate, not like you. Well... maybe not... Fine, not the first time you've gone off half-cocked, that's your way... but the first time I've ever known you encounter someone who's suffering, and make it worse. Come on, Gibbs, that's not you! How's Mrs Childs a suspect? Who's this Jack Fulford, and what's he said, that he can make you do that?" And no, he still hadn't raised his voice.

"Not your problem, DiNozzo." The kid was questioning his word? Wasn't prepared to trust him?

"What are you saying? You don't have to tell me anything? If it's a case, you do._ Is_ this a case?" Gibbs hesitated. "You don't know. Good job I texted McGee, on the way here; told him to log in that we were going to see a potential witness, to see if there was a case. So we're official, not off on another of your personal crusades."

Underneath his anger, Gibbs cringed. He'd assumed Tony was playing something on his phone rather than talk to him. He didn't given a flying... whatever about proper procedure, or what anyone labelled his action, and he was well known for his personal crusades. But in the wake of Jenny's last glorious one, (caught in the debris of which the man sitting opposite him had suffered just as much as him, maybe more... hmph,) part of Vance's brief from SecNav to get his house in order had been to dial up the protocol. His SFA had been watching his six by covering his back.

_Tony, sitting on his back steps trying to talk away his embarrassment at being cold-cocked while guarding Mike Franks... Gibbs letting him run away at the mouth rather than comfort him by telling him it wasn't the Russians, and that of course he couldn't expect the man he was protecting to attack him from behind... Tony, with his plague damaged lungs, beating out the windscreen of a submerged car, bearing Maddie up towards the light... he'd been unconscious by the time rescue came for him, and hadn't known until later just what those plagued lungs and their owner had done for him that day. Personal crusades..._

Tony's voice remained level, and while the Marine wanted to take offence and start shouting again, he knew he couldn't, not with those thoughts in his mind. "So either it's a case, and you fill me in, or it's not, and we go home and stop helping to harass someone who's on the brink already."

Gibbs hurled the car suddenly into a side road, pulled in and trod on the brake. _Good_, Tony thought, _I wanted to live to complete this discussion_. "On the brink? MrsChilds? The brink of _what_? Getting away with murder?"

The green eyes regarded him with something like despair. "Suicide, Boss. Are you really saying you didn't pick that up? 'I don't know how long I'll be here'? 'It won't matter to me anyway'? That's what she meant."

Gibbs ground his teeth. "She's got you fooled, DiNozzo. The woman's a good actress. That's what she wants you to think."

Tony was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head slightly. "Boss... who's the best damn undercover operative in the whole of NCIS? Come on, who?"

"Awright, you are. So?"

"Dang tootin'. Could have been an actor... done it professionally... So... you think I can't tell when someone _else_ is acting?"

"You might _think_ –"

"Hey, maybe I can't. Maybe nobody can for sure... but I'll tell you one thing, Boss. I know for certain when someone's _not_ acting. You can fake sorrow. You can fake paleness if you remember to put it on first thing in the morning. Although she sure didn't smell of make-up. Soap and water. Not even perfume. That's it. You can fake tears if you're good enough. But you can't fake permanently hunched shoulders – she had them when she got out of the guy's car. You can't fake looking ten years older than you are. Exhausted eyes; dull skin. You can't fake that every time you stand up you have to hitch your jeans up because they're too big for you." He looked hard at Gibbs. "She said she hadn't made her mind up yet. She's angry. Anger's keeping her alive, but once that's not there anymore, grief'll kill her."

Now it was Gibbs who shook his head. "You fallen for that tale about someone ordering that patrol to be shot up?"

"I'm going to investigate," Tony said flatly. "_You_ going to investigate the _tale_ your friend's told you?"

Gibbs thought about out-and-out ordering him to do no such thing, but thought he'd probably say 'got it, Boss', and find a way anyhow. That just made him madder. "Jack Fulford was a Marine, DiNozzo," he snarled. First the woman, now his own agent bad-mouthing his friend. "I trust him."

For the first time he heard open anger in the younger man's answer, even though Tony's voice still didn't increase in volume. "More than me? _Thirteen years of me_?" He held a hand out to forestall anything Gibbs might say. "I don't want to hear the word jealousy. I got that plenty from Ziva, and she was wrong too. Now, fill me in. What did your friend tell you?"

Gibbs had one more attempt at stalling; if he couldn't intimidate Tony into shutting up, he could try offending him, but again, he got more than he bargained for.

"You the one giving the orders now? That's _orders_, DiNozzo? I give them, you obey?"

"This isn't the military, Gibbs. Whatever anyone else may think, I've _never_ followed you blindly. I _choose_ to follow the orders you give, because I _choose_ to work for you. I have alternatives, always have had, and I _choose_ not to take them – out of the regard you know very well I have for you. Now_, _you can choose not to answer, if that's what you really think of me."

Gibbs was alarmed to see, because he knew what it looked like, smothered down but still there after those thirteen years, a tiny hint of apprehension; of fear that maybe in the long run, that really was what he thought of his senior agent, at least when up against someone more important. Hell, Tony... He gritted his teeth and told DiNozzo what Jack had told him, in as few words as possible, fell silent and waited for his SFA to see the light and fall back into step with him.

"Mmm," Tony said thoughtfully, "this happened in Jesters, this morning?"

"Told ya, went for my usual coffee. Why, dammit?"

"Well, Boss, if I wanted to meet you accidentally after a long gap, that's where I'd go, too."

That was too much. "The hell, DiNozzo! Can you not see some sense, just for once? So now my _friend_'s setting me up? You still got to have some way of putting it on to him? You just won't let go and admit you've been fooled by a female!"

The younger man sat rigidly in his seat for a moment, then said slowly, "Out of line if you think about it, Gibbs." Gibbs had, and was wishing he'd controlled his tongue this once. "The days when I made my decisions based on a reaction to a double X chromosome are long gone. And I never hit on a bereaved woman in my life."

Gibbs winced. Apart from one famous incident neither of them would ever forget, and which he'd sanctioned anyway when he'd heard about it, Tony hadn't actually _ever _based his work decisions on the XX. Or XY in that case, as Kate had never let him forget. OK, sometimes his Marine mouth did get him into trouble; DiNozzo was clearly rattled although he was trying to stay calm.

"You see a cold blooded murderer," the younger man went on quietly, "on the word of your friend. She's already answered the comments about the bruises, and hurting him – and the one about her association with Dave Lord – without even knowing she was being asked, incidentally. I see a heartbroken potential suicide case, but my word's not being considered here. We both think we're right." He opened the car door. "I _know_ I am. The wife _didn't_ do it. Not trying to prove you wrong, Boss, just trying to protect you from the consequences of it."

Gibbs snorted in disbelief. "Had your ego checked recently?" He looked at the open door incredulously. "Ya gonna sulk? Planning on getting home without me?"

Tony stepped out of the car. "I think it's best, don't you? You probably wouldn't want my company right now, all the way back to DC. Maybe we both need to cool down, think where to go from here."

"Whatever. You'd better not be going back to the Childs' place."

Tony grinned but without humour. "Without a witness, Boss? I told her I'd go back, but not right now. Me? I'm going to Falls Church." He closed the door gently, and walked away, with a completely convincing nonchalance that made Gibbs chew on his molars, pulling out his phone as he went.

Gibbs told himself that he was backing up to head back to the main road; it had nothing to do with not wanting to drive past Tony, or resist driving up to him and asking him to get back in the car... nothing at all. He was far too old and wise to sulk. If he hadn't turned the vehicle round, he wouldn't have seen the taxi that passed the junction he was heading for. She didn't look his way, but Gibbs was pretty certain the passenger was Susannah Childs. He gunned the engine and roared off to the end of the road.

Way behind him now, Tony didn't turn round to watch him go, and he almost thought '_Temper, temper_,' but honestly, he felt too damn bad. He shook his head, refusing to dwell on how things were, or how they were going to be, or why Gibbs was acting so _far_ out of character, not that he'd never been out of character before, or – hadn't he just said _refusing _to dwell – stop, now. He hit speed-dial 2; something told him there was no time to waste.

"Tony?" The relief in Tim's voice was so plain, the older agent didn't start in with his wish list right away.

"Hey... problems there?"

"Don't know where to start... Is Gibbs with you? "

"Not just now, Tim."

Now they were each registering each other's tone. "'kay... who's going to start?"

"Go ahead, McGloom..."

"And doom," his friend said forebodingly.

After Gibbs' curt instruction to find out everything he could, Tim had wasted no time. "He seemed in a hurry, but he's not answering his cell. He needs to know what I found before he stirs up a hornets' nest."

"Too late. I've already started, and he will soon."

Tim didn't waste time asking why, not yet anyway. "Right... Well, first I looked at the official story, then I dug deeper, when it seemed to me as if the national media were burying it. The widows all think, from things their husbands said about the area, and... other things I'll tell you but not over the phone, that the area should have been safe. They're saying poor intelligence, and no support. Official line is they're distraught, it's understandable, but not true. They've all encountered various difficulties, according to their local media, but Mrs Childs has had it worst, because until recently she still had her injured husband to support, and she's refused to stop being vocal about it all."

"Gibbs was told she killed him." Tony's voice was flat. "He believes it."

"No way." A few moments of terse explanation, and Tim had the whole story. Now he knew why Tony sounded as tense as he felt himself.

"You want me to investigate this Fulford guy?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And not tell Gibbs?"

"Uh-oh. If he asks, and he will, you tell him I told you to do it. I absolutely do not want your ass on the line as well as mine."

"Well..." Tim didn't sound convinced, and Tony was kind of glad. He'd not liked the thought of the younger man's formidable skills lined up with Gibbs _against_ him when time was short, but he didn't like the way his partner seemed to be planning to hop out of the frying pan and join him in the fire. There was silence down the airwaves for a moment, then McGee said positively, "So – anything else you need?"

"Actually, yes..."

Which was how, less than an hour later, having had a taxi turn up to whisk him away to the nearest car rental agency, where the one way hire of a small, fast Volkswagen had already been arranged, Tony had parked the said VW outside JAG HQ. Now, as he headed for the entrance, he saw Commander Bud Roberts walking towards him, with a smile of welcome.

"Tony – good to see you."

"You sure of that, Bud? Seems every time we meet I'm after something."

The affable commander just smiled again. "I might need your help one day. Agent McGee filled me in very succinctly on what you needed; there's no legal or moral reason you shouldn't be allowed to see Miz Childs' information; Lieutenant Sobel's trying to get her permission anyway, but right now her cell phone's switched off, and she's not answering her house phone."

Tony nodded. "It's better to ask forgiveness than seek permission," he said lightly, but he turned his head away from Bud so he wouldn't see the ironic twist he couldn't stop his mouth from forming.

"Protocol – I don't think she'd mind," Bud said, pushing a door open. A small, sparsely furnished office lay beyond it, where a young lieutenant sat, his hair slightly awry, with papers spread about on his desk. He jumped up. "At ease, Lieutenant. Tony, this is Lieutenant Felix Sobel, he's one of our bright young sparks. He's had Miz Childs' information for twenty-four hours since she handed it in, to evaluate. Felix, this is Tony DiNozzo," they shook hands, "I told you he was on his way. Is there any objection to my sticking around for a while?"

"No Sir, not at all Sir... no problem. That is... there wouldn't be if there was another chair... I'll just go get one –"

Bud rolled his eyes, and Tony thought briefly of himself and a much younger McGeek. "At _ease_, Lieutenant," the commander said. "I'll sit up here." He perched on the window ledge, and Tony took the chair the lieutenant had already set for him.

"OK, Felix... most important question – has anything jumped out at you in those twenty-four hours?"

The young officer's dark eyes were earnest. "Oh, yes, Sir."

"Tony."

"Yes Sir... Tony. You see... a lot of what Miz Childs says is what people have told her; it's unsubstantiated... but it _could_ be. If JAG were to interview some of the personnel involved, you get the feeling that they'd be _happy_ to talk, if they felt safe. I looked for something that could be proved, as a starting point – if one thing were true, it would be easier to convince my superiors that other things were worth looking at. Well, the DVA says it hasn't got Lieutenant Childs' body, and doesn't know where it is, but I followed a trail, and I _know_."

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs hung back in his big, black muscle car; he didn't think the cabbie would notice a tail, but he wasn't going to give him the chance. When the cab stopped after about four miles outside the neat stone gateway of a cemetery, Gibbs turned away down a side road two hundred yards back. He let Susannah Childs get out of sight; he could find her again, and there was no chance of her ever seeing him if he didn't want her to.

When he spotted her she was walking slowly towards a small garden area; she'd changed out of her scruffy working clothes. Gibbs saw the hunched shoulders Tony had spoken of, and reminded himself that Jack had said she was an actress. Tony's voice asked him '_Who's she acting to, Boss, she doesn't know you're here, you said so yourself.' _He pushed the thought aside with a silent grunt of exasperation.

There were a few plaques on a curving wall, some on posts in among flowers in raised beds, and others set into a grassy bank. Susannah sat down on the grass beside one, put her hand on it, and simply didn't move very much, other than to pass her hand through her hair, for over an hour.

Sometimes her lips moved, but from the distance away that Gibbs was, he couldn't make out what she was saying. She didn't appear to be crying, but he couldn't truthfully say that her body language told of anything but pain and sadness. Occasionally she stroked her fingertips over the writing on the stone, which Gibbs had already realised must bear her father's name, but mostly she sat as still as a statue.

After a long time, when the birds sang and the breeze barely moved the warm air, she got up onto her knees, tidied the grass around the stone, and stood up. She pulled a phone from her pocket, and by the time she'd walked back to the gateway, Gibbs could see the same cab coming down the road. Once again, he caught up and followed at a distance; when it dropped Susannah off, and he watched those same drooping shoulders as she went into her house, he wondered what had made him indulge in such an exercise in futility. What had he hoped to catch her doing? As to his thoughts as he'd sat in his hidden vantage point that past hour, he hadn't much liked them, and he didn't want to think them again.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: It occurred to me that I've been impolite. I've had some really kind reviews and observations from guests who haven't been signed in, and so far I've not said thank you. Allow me to apologise and change that now – I'm very grateful to all of you!**

**Long chunk of explanation before the action... or the angst. Sorry!**

The Wife Didn't Do It

Chapter 4

_Felix means happy, _Tony thought inconsequentially, and again he was reminded of a much younger McGee, unable to contain himself with excitement when he'd unearthed something important. The young lieutenant with the untamed hair was beaming with pride, and Tony thought that this was the point where Gibbs would have snarled at Tim to get on with it, and reduced the probie to stuttering, if _he_ hadn't jumped in with some silly comment. Damn... were they still going to be a team after today? He could still feel the heat as his boats burned behind him... but had he done the wrong thing? Test question: _would you do it again? Oh yeah..._

He forced himself to concentrate, as Bud said chidingly, but much more gently than Gibbs would have done, "So, are you going to share, Lieutenant?"

"Oh... yes, Sir, sorry Sir... well, er, you see, Mrs Childs couldn't pick up a phone and just demand an answer from anyone; she has no authority. But _I_ can pick up a phone and say 'JAG', and it's 'certainly, how can we help', right away. I phoned the coroner's office in Springfield, and asked them about the day the DVA came and took Lieutenant Childs' body. Because, as you know, the DVA are claiming they didn't, haven't got, don't know, etc etc. They remembered it because it was so strange, they'd barely unloaded the poor guy; but they didn't argue, the deceased was military after all.

"The van was plain, but after a while a receptionist recalled that the two man crew both wore Walter Reed sweatshirts, and the paperwork was in order, so she assumed they were DVA. I rang Walter Reed mortuary and asked to speak to the crew that went out on that date to Springfield – implying that I knew someone had, and a driver called back a few minutes later from his cab. Sure, they'd collected remains from Springfield, brought them straight back, the attendant who'd given the collection order signed and that was that."

"Wow," Tony said. "So unless someone's pulled some other weird switch, that's where the lieutenant is. That's neat, young Felix. You'll go far."

The young man's grin went up a few watts. "There's more. I asked for the attendant's name, driver wasn't sure, thinks he's heard him called Wardy, or Fordy; described him as middle-aged, heavy-set, with cropped iron grey hair. I looked up personnel records, there's a mortuary assistant named Edward Wilkes. I figure that guy knows what happened next."

Bud looked from Felix to Tony, reading the agent's mind. "No, you can't have him for NCIS, we saw him first."

At first Lieutenant Sobel just lapped up the praise; a junior didn't get it in such doses as this very often. Then he reminded himself what all this was about, and said more seriously, "There's still more. Two things so far. The patrol that day; well the wives, that's four and the fiancée of the fifth marine, all agreed that their men had told them not to worry. That 'Watch-your-back Park' wasn't as dangerous as it used to be." He lifted one group of papers. "One reason it had such a bad reputation was the terrain; it was difficult to fly drones, signals were impaired and even the most experienced operators flew them into hillsides. There were odd local weather conditions, and little pockets where insurgents could hide; the Marines were often completely dependent on satellite information.

"The CO that day queried the information he was given; called HQ out on it, but was told it was accurate. The six men went out and came under fire; they took cover, but were hit as they were falling back. The autopsy records are unavailable; no-one's saying whether it was the rebels or covering fire from their own people who couldn't see where they actually were.

"Colonel Guthrie took responsibility, although unofficial sources say he came over as angry, rather than guilty – these sources I mentioned, who'd be glad to come forward if they felt anyone would believe them. Anyhoos, he wasn't blamed, but he was transferred out to a command in the Balkans, and any attempt by Mrs Childs, the VA or anyone else to contact him have been blocked."

"It sucks, Tony," Bud said. "Afghanistan's a bad enough place without poor intelligence." (_Wrong _intelligence, Tony was thinking sickly. His job, and the people he encountered because of it disposed a natural cynic to become a severe one; but murder by friendly fire? No.. really, no.) The commander rubbed his knee absent-mindedly; below it, although no-one would know to look at him, his leg ended in a stump, fitted with the most modern of prostheses. One of the medal ribbons on his chest was deep purple, with a narrow edging of silver. Tony, who faced down the scum of society most days, and had a dreadful feeling he was going to be doing it again very soon, in someone whom Gibbs called a friend, thought Bud was the real hero.

He nodded thoughtfully. "You'd know," he said quietly. To Felix he said, "_Two_ things, you mentioned?"

Felix stayed serious. "The other four wives... none of them could really add anything new. But WO1 Danzig's fiancée... Julia Hamlyn... she's a civilian junior intelligence analyst at ONI. If you read between the lines of her statements, she's holding back, but would say more if she could. I think she wants JAG – or you – to investigate so she _can_." He looked older than his years for a moment. "What does someone do, if they know something's wrong, and the life of someone they love was lost because of it? She took indefinite leave, on medical grounds. It's been six months and she's not returned to work yet. That might mean something."

"I guess," Tony said slowly, answering the question, "they come to us, or you... I was going to go straight back to Washington and nail that mortuary guy to the wall; but if Miss Hamlyn lives anywhere near – I mean, she must to work for ONI, right? Thanks." He glanced at the address and phone number that Lieutenant Sobel handed him. "McLean. I'm on my way." He paused in the doorway. "I owe you both." He was gone.

NCISNCISNCIS

_What does a potential suicide look like? Is there anything that singles them out? When he'd walked down to the beach that day and put his gun in his mouth, would anyone watching him go by have been able to read his intent? And then the gun jammed... and tears filled his eyes as he imagined Shannon, standing at the Gates of Heaven, berating him roundly for doing something so foolish before she and Kelly welcomed him. _

_No-one ever knew he sometimes thought this way, and no-one was ever going to. But now, no matter how he missed his girls, he knew that life __**was**__ bearable, it had to be, and he was here for a purpose. Even if he put one dirtbag away and another one filled his place, one dirtbag was better than two, for as many times as it took. Was Mrs Childs such a one... or was she only alive until she'd flushed one out? _

_On the grass bank a little way down the gentle hill Gibbs crouched at the top of, Susannah picked idly at a few grass blades, and touched her father's name on the dark grey stone. How would __**he**__ have coped if he hadn't been able to make a good funeral for his girls for __**five weeks**__? _

_Joe Bellamy... not the sharpest knife in the box, but utterly good hearted, and a husband any woman should have been proud of; as Gibbs said morosely when he and Jack Fulford had got drunk together after his funeral. He'd been betrayed by a woman who pretended to love him, and had __**he**__ been pretending as he let Gibbs walk out of the house and picked up his gun, or had he made up his mind, and done it, in a heartbeat? Was Susannah Childs pretending? DiNozzo said not. But how easy was it __**really **__to tell? The thought shook him rigid that if Tony had ever felt suicidal, after any of the spectacularly bad things that had happened in his life, would he, or anyone have known? _

_He thought he would – he hoped he would. He shivered as he remembered that he'd called him 'kid' in his mind during their confrontation. __**Were **__his team his family now? Ziva had regarded him as a father, and he missed her every time he had a moment when there was nothing else to occupy his mind. Tim... he couldn't even begin to figure where he stood in the life of someone with a father like the Admiral, but he couldn't imagine his team without him. Tony never came out and said it but... Thirteen years. There was no getting away from that. Tony had stuck around a surly, second B grouch for that long, knew easily as much about __**semper fidelis**__ as Jack Fulford did, and deserved better than he got. _

_But if DiNozzo was right then Fulford was lying... He heard his SFA's irony laced tones again. 'Well, OK, Boss... but couldn't you at least value my opinion even if you think I'm wrong? Seem to remember you once saying you depended on me!'_

_Susannah got up and began to retrace her steps, when her phone rang. She stopped and listened, then seemed to agree with what the caller was saying. She switched off and began walking again, and Gibbs merged in among the monuments to make his way back to his car._

Now, as he edged the car round the corner and watched Mrs Childs going into her empty house, Gibbs realised something else that was tugging at the back of his mind. There were coincidences... a whole string of them if he could clear his head enough to identify them. They niggled at him; he didn't believe in them – he was putting the big sedan into reverse when there came a crash and a shout from inside the house, and he hauled on the parking brake instead.

A figure came barrelling out of the front door, running towards a bicycle flung down on the grass triangle at the road junction. Gibbs recalled seeing the kid earlier, fiddling with his machine, but then he'd mounted and ridden away. The Marine was on him in an instant.

The boy was no more than fifteen or sixteen, but kept up a stream of very adult, protesting obscenities as Gibbs marched him back up the street. "Shut up, Sonny. Except if you're going to explain to me what you were doing in the house?"

"The hell – I live there!"

"No, ya don't," Gibbs told him, and handcuffed him to the door knocker. The door stood open, and he was suddenly alarmed as he wondered why Mrs Childs hadn't run out after the fleeing figure.

He found her on her knees by the living room door, bent over and whimpering slightly in pain, with blood oozing between the fingers that were pressed against her temple. A Venetian glass paperweight lay a few feet away, the pretty turquoise swirls flecked with red.

"Easy... easy, now."Gibbs put his arms round her gently. "Come on, let's get you up and sat down."

"Agent Gibbs! What are you –"

He steered her towards a high backed chair. "Don't worry about that right now. Ok... that's right... sit now. Lean back, rest your head. There. Let me have a look."

She looked up at him anxiously. "I'm afraid to take my hand away," she whispered woozily.

"Only for a moment... there... it's not so very big, it's just that scalp wounds bleed a lot. I'll go find some towels."

"First aid box in the kitchen," Susannah said through her teeth.

"Be right back." As Gibbs went to find it, he saw, with shock and anger, that the photos that had been the subject of their debate not two hours ago, were thrown around the room, in various states of destruction. Some frames were twisted, or glass smashed, or the pictures ripped and crumpled. In the kitchen, the plug had been put in the sink, the overflow blocked and the faucet turned on. Gibbs' famous gut lurched, and he realised he'd been running on it with his change of attitude to Mrs Childs ever since he re-entered the house.

He remembered where he'd seen the house phone, and picked it up on his way back. After he'd broken open a large dressing and applied it to Susannah's hairline, he called for paramedics, and the local police. "There we are, help's on the way. How's the pain?"

She looked warily at this new incarnation of her earlier visitor, and he read her look. "Yeah..." he said quietly, "I'll apologise later." (Had he really just used that word? He was going to have to get used to it, because he was sure as hell going to have to at least try to say sorry to Tony without choking on the word.) "You can slap me when you feel up to it, but don't try yet. No... don't nod your head!"

"Oh... I shouldn't have done. That kid... my photos... oh, my damn head. I feel really sick..."

Gibbs fetched a waste bin just in case. While he was doing that, he stepped out into the hallway, and shouted to the youth, who was kicking the front door and yelling. "Hey! Quit that or I'll give you something to shout about." The noise ceased, and he went back to Susannah. "What happened? Tell you what, I'll ask, just say yes or no. "You got home and surprised him? And he hit you with the paperweight?"

"Threw it. He was knocking my mom in law's china cabinet over when I came in. In the dining room." She gave a huff, and Gibbs wondered if she'd cry, but her face still burned with the anger he'd already seen, and felt. He went and looked into the room, and the sad, disgusted look that came over his face told her all she needed to know.

"You OK for a minute?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

A moment later he dragged the struggling young man into the room, cuffed his hands behind him, and shoved him down into a chair opposite Susannah, so he could see the blood. He was about to question the boy when the woman lifted her chin, and asked, "You're the one who did all the other things?"

"No! I didn't do – I mean, I don't know what you're talking about!"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "What other things?"

"Roadkill thrown over my back fence... a dead cat on my doorstep. Phone calls in the middle of the night – the caller ID was Cass's old cell-phone number. Air-gun pellets lodged in my front door. But no break-in up to now. It was you, wasn't it."

"I didn't break in!"

"You're in," Gibbs said dangerously. "How?" The kid looked cornered, so he went for the kill. "You've just committed assault, sonny. You're for juvy. How long for depends on you. How d'you get in?

The boy gave up. "Envelope arrived this morning. With a key. The note said wait, see if she got arrested and taken away. If she didn't I was to wait until she went out, then use the key and come in and make a mess. It said it was time to up the pressure and not be afraid to do it. Took me... an hour to work up the courage. I dropped it. The key. 'S there." He nodded to a spot on the floor near the hearth. Gibbs retrieved it with a tissue, and showed it to Susannah. She glared at him, but he could see the look wasn't aimed at him personally.

"Cass wore it with his dog-tags," she said bitterly, "which I've not had back yet, or his other effects. It was to remind him he had a place to come home to." Gibbs sighed; he was feeling guilty as hell. He had a damn good idea who had them.

"I'll find them for you," he said calmly. To the kid he barked, "Who was the note from?"

"Don't know his name. Only met him once. Smart suit. Gave me $200 and said I'd get more when he was happy the job was done."

A cold hand clutched at Gibbs' already active gut. He had to talk to Tony, soon. Not now, had to be time for them... he took out his phone. "McGee?"

"Boss?"

"Need you to send me an up-to-date photo of Jack Fulford. To my phone. Right away." As he spoke, two paramedics hurried in, so he moved away to give them room.

"OK, Boss... it'll take a minute; I'm out of the office, I'll have to do it via my phone."

With a mighty effort, Gibbs choked down his usual snarl. Whatcha doing out of the office?"

He could almost hear the deep breath being taken at the other end. "On my way to Walter Reed, Boss. Borrowed Dorneget for back-up. Tony asked me to go; we think we know - well, Tony's sure - where Lieutenant Childs' body is."

Gibbs glanced at Susannah; clearly DiNozzo had filled his partner in on the story as they knew it, but it was too early to share that news, he'd wait until he knew for sure. "Boss... are you still there?"

"Yeah... where's DiNozzo? Uh... how is he?"

"Well, I've not seen him yet – he's gone to McLean to talk to one of the widows... well, the fiancée actually. Maybe... you should call him?"

There was another long pause. "I... I'll wait until I see him. Tell him I asked. Keep me posted."

He went back to explain the situation to two newly arrived cops, so that the patient wouldn't have to repeat herself, and as he was doing so, his phone buzzed. The cheerful, well-fed face of his friend from the hill grinned back from the screen. He thrust it under the young punk's nose.

"This the guy?"

"Yeah."

Ah, DiNozzo... Gibbs' heart twisted with guilt. "You –" he said heavily to the kid, "You go with these nice policemen, and you damn well tell them everything you know."

NCISNCISNCIS

Julia Hamlyn, forewarned by phone, was waiting when Tony's VW pulled up outside. She waited until he was right up to the door before opening it, and closed it quickly behind him. He read the anxiety, and was careful to show her his ID.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I just have to be careful. Come and sit down, I've already made a pot of coffee." Another woman was in the living room, and greeted him with a grave half-smile. "This is my mom, Eve, she was visiting and I didn't want to make her go home."

"I'll go in the kitchen if you'd prefer to talk privately," the older woman offered.

"That's up to your daughter, ma'am."

"Eve. I'll stay, then."

Tony watched Julia thoughtfully, as she went about the business of pouring the coffee. She was without doubt, an exceptionally beautiful young woman, even with the pinch and stress-lines of grief that he'd already seen on Susie. She was clearly underweight, and he'd have to find out somehow if her medical leave was a physical problem, or related to her state of tension.

She handed him his coffee, took her own and sat down opposite him, drawing a deep breath. He read something pleading in her eyes as she said, "Now, Special Agent DiNozzo, how can I help you?"

"I've seen the JAG dossier," Tony said quietly. "Susannah gave her permission, and Bud Roberts vouched for me, right? So... I'd like you to tell me everything you wanted to say in that document."

Julia took another deep breath.

A junior analyst is like wallpaper... or a barista. Nobody notices, or thinks they have ears; but she'd heard angry comments from many people, serving Marines, equipment specialists, satellite camera operators, about near misses in 'Watch-your-back Park'; and when 'Danny' Danzig had been sent there, she hadn't believed the reassurances. She hadn't been on duty the day of the attack, but she'd had one shattered, tearful phone call with a SCO friend, telling her not to believe what she was told, and apologising frantically, before the young man was put on leave and became unreachable.

The sun was beginning to drop, and they were all on first name terms, by the time Julia had said everything she needed to say, and fell silent, knotting her hands in her lap. The tension still hung in the room, and as Tony glanced over to Eve, he could see she was bursting to say something herself, but was waiting for her daughter.

Tony caught her eye, nodded slightly, and said gently, "What else, Julia? You're not just sad, you're frightened. Are the press bothering you? Have you had threats?"

"Not... not exactly..."

Eve came and sat by her. "Her boss's boss, Tony, Marshall Carver, he... we mistrust him. He keeps sending Julia get well cards..."

"And flowers. I'm not actually ill," Julia confessed. "I'm nervy as hell, but I'm stretching out the 'illness' with my doctor's help, so I don't have to go back to work until my transfer comes through. It's taking time; I wonder if he's blocking it... if that's so, I'll quit. He scares me. I'm still crying for Danny most nights, but he thinks I should be going out and having fun. Keeps asking me to go out with him. I keep saying no, and this morning he phoned and kind of yelled at me to stop being silly. Said he was coming round tomorrow, and we were going to go out and have a good time, and I'd soon see how foolish I was being."

"That's why I'm here," Eve said. "Julia's terrified to be alone."

Tony's blood had been busy curdling as he'd listened. He could hardly believe it... but yes he could. Susannah had been convinced someone else was pulling Fulford's strings...

"Lock your doors," he said flatly;" I'll arrange for a police patrol to visit every half hour, until I can get a couple of NCIS Agents down here to guard you until I've taken care of this. I have to go... but don't worry. We're going to fix this."

He called Gibbs as he ran to his car.

"Tony! Where are you –"

"On my way in. Got a motive, and a name. How does cold-blooded murder of six men for lust over one woman grab you?"

**AN: Phew... massive great chapter because I couldn't find a place to stop. I don't think the next one will be so huge!**

**Only read through once, too whacked – apologies for any typos!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry this has taken so long... birthday celebrations and all that. Although, why the family would think I want to celebrate at my age beats me. Ungrateful or what?**

**I don't know if the expression 'souped up' is used in the US for a hotted up engine, but we like it over here!**

The Wife Didn't Do It

Chapter 5

Rodney Jefferson Jr. had an oldish cellphone in his possession as well as his own. Gibbs didn't know the sequence for reading the device's number, but one of the local police officers did, and yes, it was Cass Childs' phone. Where did Rodney Junior get it? That guy... Gibbs had requested a copy of his statement as the local crew had hauled him away.

"You don't want him?"

"Nah, he's all yours... he's already fingered the guy I'm after, but having it in writing would be good. I'll send you my statement soon as I get back to the Yard – and thanks for coming back for Mrs Childs' when she's feeling a bit better. Appreciate it."

"Our pleasure. We'll send what you need ay-sap."

Gibbs closed the front door behind them, and went back into the living room to find the ambulance crew packing away. He felt he shouldn't leave the injured woman alone; but he had a rat to catch, and an agent, hell, a friend, to damn well grovel to. He didn't know how he was going to do it, he'd never grovelled in his whole damn life. First things first, and the paramedics had solved it for him. "You're a federal agent, yes? You're not a relative of Mrs Childs? She's not concussed, but she'll certainly have a headache, and there's shock. She shouldn't be alone for a while. A friend's coming round, someone from the Veterans Association. A Bill Towb... but can you stay until he gets here?"

Gibbs resolutely damped down a _"How long?" _and agreed. There was time... The rat, damn Jack Fulford's lying hide, didn't know it was heading for the trap, and DiNozzo was happier apart from him right now. _How many damns is that, Jethro? Not nearly enough for the way I feel, damnit..._

"Sure. Be glad to."

Susannah wasn't particularly talkative; he didn't know if it was shock or dislike, but he made her a mug of hot, sweet tea, and picked up the damaged photos. "I can repair some of these frames," he told her. "And we've a forensics expert who can work wonders with the pictures. It... won't be so bad."

"Thanks." She made the effort and added, "That'd be good." Her eyes glittered with moisture, but the anger still burned, and still she didn't cry.

"Just sit there and rest for a while; I'll go and see what I can do about the cabinet. Call me if you need anything."

Most of the glass was smashed, and the ornamental leaded framing twisted out of shape. Quite a lot of the delicate Meissen, and English Spode had survived, but there would never be full sets again. Gibbs placed the intact items on the dining table, and swept the broken pieces into a pile. As he stood up to right the cabinet, he saw she was standing, leaning against the door frame, watching him.

"Hey..." He wanted to bark _'I thought I told you to sit down!'_ but it _was_ her house, and she _wasn't _DiNozzo. "You shouldn't have... come and sit down." He pulled a dining chair out and steered her to it, and she looked briefly and sadly at the salvaged china.

"I can fix the cabinet," he said, trying to find something cheerful for her. He couldn't tell her yet how things were starting to move on the case, although he wanted to. "The lead's twisted, but I'm pretty sure I can figure how to straighten it, and re-glaze it."

Susie was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What changed your mind?"

Gibbs wasn't so dense as to ask _'what about?'_

"My second in command," he said. "Made me think again." He sat down opposite her. "He said... he was worried about you..."

"I told him _not_ to worry. I said I hadn't made my mind up... although truth is, once the fight's over, I can't see anything much to motivate me to stay. I've already had enough. If I really, truly believed that there's a wonderful life hereafter and he's there waiting for me, I'd have already gone. I'm a great big dunno, though. But I want justice. For him and the others."

"You'll get it."

"Oh?" she said dubiously. "I meant what I said about someone pulling Fulford's strings – I'm sorry, I know he's a friend of yours, but the man..." She shook her head; now she wasn't up against a furious Marine defending his buddy she wasn't pushed to let her own rage out in angry words again."I can't cry, you know? _Can't_. Every time I want to, this wave of anger tells me to get a grip, there's work to be done, and not to waste time on tears. Something really _terrible_ happened, Special Agent Gibbs, and someone powerful's hiding it. I've tried going up against all that, so have my friends, and it's got us nowhere. Can you do any better? I don't mean that nastily... I just... where _is_ Cass...?" she gave up trying to explain. Gibbs felt terrible.

"I... we've got Fulford... I don't want to say anything, until I know, in case I'm wrong. But - "

The ghost of a sad smile crept across the widow's face. "Ah... you know, you get rash and impetuous, but then you feel sorry and hold back. You're a good person. Anyone can see that."

"I'm... right now I'm a _sorry_ person." She had no idea how much that took, but he'd done it; he let the rest of his breath out slowly.

"It's OK. I'll wait... you know, because of you my hopes are actually up a little for the first time since Cass went to Helmand."

Gibbs bit his lip, something he wasn't prone to doing. He really wanted to offer some comfort, although he doubted his skill at that. He found himself wanting to tell her about his own suicide attempt, which not even Ducky knew about. He didn't know if he could even speak the words without his throat seizing up. He didn't know if he could follow through with whatever was needed afterwards. But... he took a deep breath – and there came a knock on the half-open front door.

"Hello? Susie?" a woman's voice called.

"In here," Susannah called back, and a middle-aged couple hurried in.

"This is Helen Towb," Susie said, "and her husband, Bill. They're friends from the VA." She introduced Gibbs, and by the Towbs' pleasant response he understood that she'd not told them about what happened earlier. He was a bit ashamed to realise she hadn't ratted him out as he deserved, and he was guiltily grateful for the interruption that had saved him from baring his soul.

After brief explanations all round, Gibbs took his leave. "Tony – that's my SFA – he said he'd be back, and so will I. Hang in there, Mrs Childs." That wiped out, struggling to return smile was her only reaction as Helen Towb wrapped an arm round her shoulders, and he headed for the door.

NCISNCISNCIS

The supervisor was an affable soul. He didn't permit levity anywhere around the mortuary except in the break room, believing that respect for the dead was not optional in this job, but he didn't walk round with a false air of unctuous grief – his wife's phrase – either. Right now, he was shocked, and more than a little angry at what he'd heard so far.

"No, he said in answer to Tim's question, "I'd booked that day off a week previously." He gave a smile that was sad and ironic. "Would you believe I went to a funeral? So I wasn't here at all that day." He opened up the relevant date on his computer.

While they waited, Ned looked slowly around; he really disliked these places, knowing as he did the strong likelihood of someone who did his job ending up in one. Well, he'd _chosen_ the job. He concentrated on what the supervisor was saying. "No, there's no record here of any remains being received that day. Look here at the dates... I've been asked before, and said no. I'd have been prepared to swear in court that we didn't have him."

Tim nodded; he wasn't surprised. "What about paperwork? The driver said it was correct."

They moved out of the supervisor's small office into the general reception area, where he fetched a book about the size of a desk diary, attempted to open it up to the date in question, and frowned. "It's missing," he said angrily. "This is the dispatch register. There's an entry for two days before, and the day after, sad fact, most days someone passes through here, but that day... there _was_ an entry, you can see here, it's been detached, the one we give to the driver, but even the back copy's gone. If you look really closely you can see it's been torn out. I'd never have noticed if you hadn't asked."

Tim took a photograph; he agreed, it really _was_ difficult to spot the deception. As he lowered his camera again, a big, bulky grey-haired man in white scrubs walked in, calling out "Boss, d'you know where the –" He saw the two guys with badges and guns, and the ledger, and the supervisor, guessed right, turned and ran.

He didn't have a chance. Special Agent McGee was as lean and fit as a jack-rabbit, and Dorneget had a startling turn of speed for his size. Tim reached him first, grabbed the neck of his scrubs and swung him round. He dodged the large fist that swung at him, and Ned caught the flying arm in mid-air.

"Edward Wilkes," Tim said politely, "you're under arrest, for... well, we'll decide that in a moment. Read him his rights, Dorny." As Ned did so, Tim went back and fetched the ledger. "Let's begin with falsifying records. You'll say that of course your finger prints are on the book, you often fill out the driver's instructions."

"That's right... what –"

"But as it happens, you didn't do the one before, so when we find your prints on the back of the page, it'll help build the case."

"What case?"

Tim went on calmly as Ned cuffed Wilkes and shoved him down onto a chair, "Let's continue with the abuse of a dead body."

"_What?_ I never –"

"Well, you took off when you saw us; that seems to cancel out the 'I never'. You took a lieutenant's remains without authority, and you hid him. That counts as abuse in my book. And theft, maybe?"

The supervisor nodded seriously; "That fits, Wardy. And over-reaching your authority. Attendants can fill the paperwork, they do the handling and storing of the remains after all, but the orders to admit or give up a body have to come from the coroner, or a hospital department, or the police, via the duty supervisor. There wasn't one on duty that day, although I had arranged cover if it was needed, which was why you took the opportunity to send the van out to Annandale when you did."

"We'll put that in as well, then," Ned Dorneget said gravely. "Then there's taking a bribe." Edward Wilkes' eyes widened with shock, but he decided there was no point in speaking.

Tim held the photo on the screen of his phone in front of the attendant's nose. "Ah, I see you recognise him." Wilkes tried unsuccessfully not to look. Tim stooped and looked him in the eye. "Now, Mr Wilkes, Where. Is. Lieutenant Childs?"

The mortuary wasn't large; there was a bank of twelve drawers in one room, that was in regular use, and another bank of six that had been added later in the wake of a horrible highway pile-up. It was seldom needed, and it was here that Wilkes led them. "That one," he muttered, jerking his head at drawer 18. The supervisor opened it slowly, and they all sighed. In the wasted, ruined face, the handsome features of the young lieutenant who'd bought a pretty white house with his wife, intending to fill it with children's laughter, were still clear. Tim and Ned both had to swallow.

"We'll send our people to collect him," Tim said.

"Allow me to have him brought to you," the supervisor said, "as the only duty I can perform for him. Five weeks! I am so sorry... I wish I'd believed I had a reason to check."

Tim nodded. If had been NCIS not a grieving widow before, he thought the supervisor probably would have not just taken the word of the records, but the man was already feeling guilty, so all he said was, "Thank you. He knew there was no reason for you to, that's why he did it. We'll need the ledger as evidence, and I'm sorry to leave you without an attendant for the rest of the day." They led an unprotesting Wilkes away.

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs stood behind the glass, listening to the sorry, despicable tale Tim was extracting from Edward Wilkes. With that, and what Tony had briefly told him down the phone, he was being reminded what a very sick place the world can be.

Wilkes had been ordered to have his plans in place, and wait for Cass Childs to die. Whenever that was, no time limit. Fulford would let him know, and his job was, whatever it took, to get the lieutenant away from the county coroner and hide him. It would be good, as in more money for him, if that could happen before the autopsy, he wasn't told why. Gibbs knew; if a post mortem had been carried out, and it said natural causes, his friend Jack wouldn't have had the added weapon of a murder accusation against the harassed widow who just wouldn't be silenced. Wilkes had been fortunate that the word came on a day when there was no duty supervisor, but he'd been ready for weeks. He'd have thought of something.

Those coincidences that had been bugging Gibbs suddenly settled, now Jack's story had been scotched. Childs had been one young Marine in a unit, whose path had soon diverged from Fulford or any of them. The idea he'd have remembered him and wanted to help wasn't too credible, he should have known that. But Jack had been there and got drunk with him over Joe Bellamy, and would have known the story of an unfaithful, heartless wife would have been a good trigger to pull on him.

He'd been wondering about the news report too, ever since Susannah had said she wasn't at Falls Church that morning, until Ned told him the truth of it. Tony had suggested talking to the barista, who'd said yes, he'd seen the report the previous day and was surprised to be seeing it again. Then the guy in the $2000 suit had asked him to use his playback facility so he could watch it again,' just as Gibbs came in, and they greeted each other like long lost brothers, Ned.'

And as for Tony, his story, blurted out in a few tight sentences, against the background roar of the VW's souped up engine, was enough to turn the senior agent pale. He might not have been disposed to believe it, even knowing his SFA's leaps of intuition as he did; that someone, (whose position as an intelligence analyst made it easy for him,) could kill six men simply in order to ensure the death of just one, because he lusted after that man's girl, defied sanity. Except that Gibbs had stood in MTAC and watched his own government blow up an entire boatful of Navy Seals for no better reason than to save face. These days Gibbs could believe just about anything of human nature.

Tony hadn't wanted to talk any more than that. "I'm on my way in, Boss," and he'd disconnected. Gibbs couldn't blame him. They needed to talk, but, as he'd thought before, they needed time. The right time. It was just now becoming clear that the task ahead of them was expanding faster than the universe, and had to be dealt with first.

The door opened behind him, and the very light air of a very recognisable cologne told him who had joined him. He braced himself, and all idea of restraint just flew out of the door before the Senior Field Agent could close it.

"Tony... look, I got to tell you, you were right, I'm _sorry_."

The younger man went wide eyed, just for a moment, then his expression closed down, and he tipped his head on one side to regard the Marine calmly.

"No need to screw yourself up breaking that particular rule, Boss," he said quietly, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure the technician had his headphones on. "Sorry doesn't do it, and it's not what I'm looking for."

"But –" It had nearly killed him to say it; he'd never have managed if he'd waited and not just opened his mouth, and Tony didn't want it? "What then?"

"Rule one! You leave me out. Exclude me – from the information, or the action. _Say_ you trust me, _act_ different. Go off on your own crusade. Or take me along without telling me the truth, and expect me to deal. Take someone's word over mine as soon as 'Semper Fi' gets a mention. I've been Fi a sight more Semper than Jack Fulford, and for nearly as long. Gibbs, you were fifteen years a Marine, worked with all sorts of different people... I've had your six for thirteen years, exclusively – how do I still count for less? Over and over again? When all I'm trying to do is have your back? When you could have pushed Susie Childs over the edge to kill herself? How's sorry going to hack it? Sorry this time, keep me trotting at your heels _until you do it again_? D'you not understand it hurts? How many more times do you think I can endure it?"

Tim had finished with Wilkes, and was moving towards the door. He'd be there in a moment. Tony sighed.

"We've got work to do, Boss, and dirt to clean up. Let's get back to the bull pen and figure out what to do next. Talk about this later – I didn't even intend to say this much right now." He stood aside for Gibbs to go first, and the Boss went, scarcely even noticing that he'd been told to do something by a subordinate and was _doing_ it. Tony followed him out to meet up with Tim in the corridor. The Director was waiting for them in the bull pen.

"I want Fulford," Gibbs said a few minutes later, after they'd filled in any remaining gaps in each other's knowledge. "I mean, I want to go get him. He fooled me; I want to be the one to let the rat know it didn't work. In the end."

The other agents nodded. "Take Dorny if he can still be spared. Take back-up, at least," Tony said.

Tim nodded, as he went over to his computer. "Even a cornered rat can attack, Boss."

"I'll be –" he gave in abruptly. "OK, I'll take Dorneget. You two go get Carver."

The Director held up a warning hand. "There are warrants for both of them; I've been busy too. This is going to be big, and nasty; by the book, all of you. I have a technician in MTAC tracking their whereabouts, she'll call you with any information you need." He hit a number on his cell phone. "Miss Sissons? Thank you." He disconnected. "Fulford is currently at the Army and Navy Club. Carver is at ONI."

"Thank you, Director."

"Keep me posted."

NCISNCISNCIS

Jack Fulford was sitting at a circular table in a booth, with a few fellow suits; they were all laughing about something. He was relaxed, cheerful, and didn't have any sort of a badge that said 'I'm currently engaged in driving a woman to suicide, and I'm not giving it a second thought'. Gibbs stopped a few yards away and just stood looking at him. Dorneget stayed in the background; he hadn't been told to on the ride over, but this was Gibbs' show. One of the other suits saw him first, and something about the still figure made him very uneasy. He pointed, and Jack finally noticed him. He shot up from his seat and tried to push past his friends to get away; Gibbs simply blocked his path. Ned's big frame blocked the door to the outside world. Fulford's friends watched in some alarm, but Gibbs hitched his jacket back to show his badge and gun. "You're coming with me, Jack."

The other suits edged out of the way, but wild horses wouldn't have made them leave. "What d'you want with me, Jethro? I haven't done anything!"

"If you say so. Need you to come back with me and explain what you haven't done." He rolled his eyes. "Jack, I was a sharpshooter... don't bother trying to get that teeny little gun in your pocket, I'll take you out before you can hurt anyone in here. Bring it out slowly, and put it down." He hadn't actually drawn his own Sig.

Jack Fulford's eyes were darting all over the place, trying to spot an escape route, or a sympathetic face. He backed away into the booth until he tripped over a chair and ended up sitting on the floor. His friends faces were impassive, each trying to work out how best to make sure any mud that was on Jack wasn't going to stick to them. Fulford whimpered in a sudden rush of terror, and brought the gun out, slowly as Gibbs had said, and then pressed the barrel to his own temple.

"I'm not going to prison! I'll kill myself first!" he screeched.

Gibbs took a step backwards. "Sure," he said. "Go ahead." He saw himself back on that beach; he saw Joe Bellamy's smiling, innocent face. He saw Susie Childs, eyes bright with the tears she couldn't shed, and he knew without a doubt that Fulford didn't have the guts of any of them. He waited.

"I'll do it! I will!" Still, Gibbs just waited, until Jack dropped the gun with a wail of fear. "You don't understand! I had to do it! He ordered me to!"

Gibbs picked up the gun with one hand, and hauled Fulford to his feet with the other, spun him round and snapped cuffs on him. "Stand there and don't move." He made the gun safe, dropped it in his pocket, and pushed his former friend towards Dorneget, who propelled him towards the door. Gibbs looked at the couple of overturned chairs that were the only evidence of what had just happened. "Sorry about the mess," he said, and followed Ned out.

As they drew close to their car, Gibbs' cell shrilled. "Yeah, McGee?"

"Boss..." Tim's voice sounded dreadful. "Tony..."

**Aargh, why am I doing this? Another huge thing... Cube, my slave-driving pal, you'll be wanting custard on it next!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Medical stuff derived entirely from life-time of watching emergency room type TV.**

**Hope the movie reference needs no explanation.**

**And once more, thanks to all the kind reviewers who weren't signed in.**

The Wife Didn't Do It

Chapter 6

They took Tony's VW, which was getting far more work than the hire firm might have expected. Tim wondered about broaching the matter of the tension he'd seen between Tony and Gibbs; it was so under control that you only saw it if you knew them, but Tim did know them, and Tony had mentioned that they hadn't see eye to eye on the subject of Mrs Childs... He wanted to help, but in the end he was glad he didn't, because Miss Sissons called as they were crossing the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge, and after that there was no time to broach anything. Tim took the call. "McGee. Yes, we're heading out to Arlington. He is? Heading where? I see. Yes, keep tracking, but I'm sure we know where he's going. Please put a BOLO out. Thanks." He hung up. "Tony – obviously he can't wait – he's heading for McLean. He's got to be going to Julia Hamlyn's place."

Tony looked at him briefly, nodding and pulling a face, then turned his attention back to the road and gunned the engine. "Damn... remember Julia said he 'kind of yelled'... this is one seriously unbalanced individual."

"He thought if he got rid of the opposition, the object of his desire would just fall into his arms, and she's not."

"And now he's going to the aggressive side of obsession. You got her phone number there?"

"Oh yeah... Miss Hamlyn? Ah, _Mrs _Hamlyn. Special Agent Tim McGee, NCIS – friend of Tony DiNozzo. We're on our way over. Mrs Hamlyn, please lock all your doors – they are? Yes, he might be, but we'll be there soon. Good. Switch all your lights off, close all your windows and drapes, and you and your daughter take cover somewhere. Yes, the bathroom would be good. We'll be right there and deal with him." He disconnected.

Rush hour was over, and by driving like a loon, Tony made good time. Tim closed his eyes occasionally, but riding with Gibbs had hardened him, and he still thought his partner had a way to go before he could claim to be as bad as the Boss. They were aware that Marshall Carver had a dangerous head start on them, and they weren't going to let him use it.

As the little car lurched from sixty to zero, they could see, in the combination of fading daylight and waxing lamplight, the figure of Carver, standing on Julia's doorstep, pounding on the door with his fist. Good. He hadn't broken in. He was forty-something, running to fat, and looking slightly ridiculous in the sort of clothes a kid half his age would wear to go clubbing. He was carrying flowers, but by now his attitude was nothing like romantic.

"Julia! I said I know you're in there! If you don't come out I'm going to break the door down... Julia! Dammit, I've been patient, I've waited! Haven't I? I've given you space! All right, if you're not coming out, I'm coming in! You can't ignore me... everything I've done, I did it for you! _Julia! D'you hear me?_"

Carver threw the flowers down, stomped on them and began to kick the door; he was making such a scene he didn't even see the two agents walking towards him; the only thing loud enough to disturb him was the squeal of tyres as a big police cruiser came round the corner on two wheels. Tim huffed, "_Now_ they arrive... I'll deal... before they see our guns and decide we're the bad guys and pepper us."

"OK," Tony said. "I'll haul him off before he hurts someone."

Tim turned back towards the approaching vehicle, extending his badge at arm's length, as the SFA hurried up the path. Neighbours were starting to appear at their doors, and form an audience.

"NCIS, Mr Carver," Tony said sharply. "You need to quit that, Julia doesn't want to see you, and you need to – aaah!"

What little of Carver's reasoning that was still intact left him. All he heard was 'Julia doesn't want to see you', spoken by a guy better looking than he'd ever be, better dressed... so this was why Julia didn't want him, all this time she was pretending to be grief stricken, she was seeing this interloper.

If he hadn't been standing to Carver's left, Tony would have died on the spot, as the deranged man dug the unsheathed knife he'd only been intending to threaten Julia with, (unless she _really wouldn't_ see his point of view,) out of his pocket, and struck hard, overhand.

Tim heard his friend yell in pain, as the two VA cops hurried towards him. He whirled round in time to see Tony, still standing, but doubled up in pain, and a knife held high, flashing in the light of the streetlamps, about to descend for a second strike, on his back. Everything happened in a microsecond. Carver stood sideways on, and was a poor target. Tim wanted this guy to live to be investigated and held responsible for what he'd done; but if he lived, Tony would die. He took the difficult head shot which was all that was available, without hesitation, and it was a good one.

Carver went down and Tim ran up the path, the two cops behind him. One kicked the knife out of the way, while the other checked Marshal Carver for signs of life, which he didn't find.

"Nice shooting," he told Tim, who didn't answer as he dropped to his knees beside his partner.

"Tony..."

The other officer was already calling urgently for an ambulance. She didn't need to be asked to race back to her cruiser for the first aid box. Tony, on his knees by now, was keeling slowly over, and Tim lowered him almost to the ground without letting him fall, then made himself into a human pillow. The older agent's hand was pressed hard over the deep puncture wound high on the right side of his chest, blood welling between his fingers. If he'd been standing closer, or further to the right, Tim thought inconsequentially, his aortic arch would have been struck, and there'd have been no saving him. Now, _he_ had to do what he could.

When the first aid supplies arrived, the female officer ripped dressings open as fast as she could for the agent to press down on his colleague's injury, while her partner soothed the Hamlyns via his cell phone. He advised them to let him in via the _back_ door though. Sitting on the front path, Tim piled the gauze pads onto the wound as fast as he could, and pressed as hard as he could, while Tony tried to keep his breathing shallow. He looked up at his friend and tried for the megawatt grin, but his face was twisted by severe pain.

"Don't... look like that, Probie..." _Probie? He's not called me that in... dammit, Tony... _"I'm not gonna die..."

Tim smiled, and the Gibbs-like power in his voice astonished him as he replied. "No, you're not. You're Very Special Agent DiNozzo, remember." But he wished he were as sure as he sounded. He knew the wound was about as serious as it could get, especially for a man whose lungs were suspect in the first place. He looked for some distraction, as the howl of an ambulance was heard in the distance. "Wish I hadn't had to kill him... he deserved to be tried, and condemned, then they could kill him as many times as they liked."

Tony grinned through his pain. "Woo... vicious Timmy... You know... he'd have used that knife on... Julia. And... her mom... y'did good..." He stopped talking, and Tim wasn't sure if or when he drifted into unconsciousness, as the paramedics ran up to take over. Trust Tony not to consider it important that the knife had already been used on _him._

"Scoop and run," the senior medic said at once. "Work on him in the vehicle." He looked at Tim, dishevelled, blood splashed, and frantic eyed. "You coming?"

"Go," the VA policewoman said quickly, _don't worry we'll take care of things good luck _all in one word.

NCISNCISNCIS

SecNav had almost sworn at Vance, but she was a lady. "Gibbs... him and his team. Always where the nasty stuff is. Are you sure about all this, Leon?"

"That's because they're the best, Miz Secretary. And yes, on what we've found so far."

"And there's been a cover-up?"

"There has."

"No more. The Navy is more honest than that. Do what you have to."

"Yes, ma'am."

And after that, doors had suddenly opened for the Director.

"Don't imagine I ever forgot about it, Sir," Colonel John Guthrie said, from his command in Bosnia. "I believe it was our own covering fire that killed our men, because we were given a false position on where they were. I can't tell you how that makes me feel... I didn't see how they could have got there on foot so quickly, but I was told not to doubt the information, experts were sending it to us who knew what they were doing, and to get on with it and provide the cover. My tour out here will end eventually, and I always intended to do something when I got back."

"Consider it done, Colonel. It was not your fault, don't think for a moment it was. We know who, and we'll prove it."

"Thank you very much, Sir. Now I can get on with my job with a bit lighter heart. I still lost six good men though."

With very little forensic evidence to work on, the team out in the field, and Ducky conducting a very careful examination of Lieutenant Childs' body, Abby set to reviewing the coroner's reports on the five dead men. They were inconclusive; the sort of wounds that would be received in a fire-fight, and the sort of ammunition that was used by US forces and rebels alike. She knew the Director had other people working the case, but she found other places to dig, and found that Carver had been on duty at the time of the terse reply to Colonel Guthrie's query. She brought up the names of those who'd been present at the same time; once Carver was under arrest surely they wouldn't be afraid to talk... _and don't call me Shirley! _

She thought of Tony, and the rest of her favourite team with a fond smile. They were all going to need some chill-out time when this was all over. Bowling, bar, whatever, she'd see they got it. A cold frisson ran through her. They laid their lives on the line so often... Gibbs' stressed out temper had racked up a notch since Ziva had gone... and Tony hadn't as much spare energy to absorb it... yes, she'd see to it. She pushed the chill feeling aside and began to investigate Jack Fulford. As she located each scrap of new information she printed it out, and had a neat stack of papers when, twenty minutes later, her phone shrilled.

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs put his phone slowly back into his pocket. The street lighting blurred in his vision, and the world went spinning for a moment. "Gibbs...?" Dorneget asked anxiously.

When Gibbs finally spoke, it was to Fulford. "Your puppet-master," he said softly, "just stabbed my Senior Field Agent. My friend. He's critical." He turned to a young Marine who was coming out of the building, laughing with his friend, and produced his badge. "Corporal!"

"Sir?"

"Want you two to help my agent here. Just help him guard his prisoner until back-up arrives."

The two men looked at the large young agent, who seemed perfectly capable of guarding his wilting charge himself, but the fed just smiled slightly and said, "Protocol."

"Pleasure, Sir."

"Call for another car, Dorneget, and take him back. Get him to tell you everything he knows about everything." He looked emotionlessly at Fulford. "You'll answer every one of Special Agent Dorneget's questions truthfully. If he thinks you haven't, when I get back you'll answer me. I'm going to Bethesda." He sprinted to the car, and was there in minutes.

He was surprised to see Jimmy Palmer walking quickly ahead of him from the parking lot, and sprinted again, to catch up with him.

"Special Agent Gibbs... " Jimmy was wide eyed and anxious, but not fearful, at least, not of him. "Dr Mallard sent me. He feels he needs to conclude the autopsy on Lieutenant Childs before he can come. We know Tony's in surgery, so there wouldn't be anything he can do yet anyway... but he thought you might need a translator."

Gibbs nodded wryly. "Thanks, Palmer. Duck's right." They made their way to the emergency waiting room, a route they knew far too well, to be greeted by a desperately relieved Tim McGee. He hadn't realised until he saw his boss, how much of a strain it had been bearing the waiting on his own. Gibbs looked at the blood splatter and the tension, and said gently, "Sit down, Tim. Fill us in."

"He's in surgery... his blood pressure was dropping, and they had two lines going in to replace what he was losing. They said he was stabilising a little, but they weren't going to wait. They took him in straight away. That was half an hour ago. I've informed the Director, and I told Abby." He took a deep breath. "She was really calm...I mean, really, really calm... She said she had a couple of things to run still – she's doing my job, Boss, chasing evidence... she said she'd come in with Ducky. And she said we're all going to chill with beer and bowling when it's all over, because we need to. She also said you have to tell Tony not to die, because then he won't. I... I've already told him that, on your behalf."

Gibbs pushed aside his astonishment – you couldn't fault his team when the going got tough. He nodded. "Critical, you said. _Is_ he dying?" He wasn't expecting it when his gut shot up into his throat, through the roof of his mouth and whacked his brain hard, before sinking back down again. It was like head-slapping himself. The plague, Rivkin, Harper Dearing; thirteen years of surviving the worst fate could throw at them, and coming back again and again to watch his six... Gibbs stomach roiled at the thought of his _friend_ going out now with the state of animosity and hurt that hung between them... that _he'd _put there.

'_I've had your six for thirteen years, exclusively – how do I still count for less? Over and over again?'_

He'd screwed up. He'd _assumed_. He'd assumed that because Tony put up with being treated like the lowliest recruit, instead of the right hand man he loved like a son, _which was what he deserved, _he was all right with it. That it was fine to do it. He forced himself to pay attention to what Tim was saying; he'd just asked, after all.

"They didn't say dying, Boss, and they didn't act as if it was hopeless. I mentioned Dr Pitt's name, and they said they'd fetch him; they wouldn't do that if there was no hope."

"Tell me exactly what happened, Tim."

_First name – for the second time_. The young agent steadied himself and told it like it was.

There was a long pause, then Jimmy said positively, "It's not so bad, you know! There are lots of little blood vessels in that area, and the knife would damage them, but it doesn't sound as if it hit a main artery. We'd have known. And severe pain speeds up the onset of shock, once they deal with that..." Not a medical term in there. The other two men just looked at him_. You're trying to be kind, but just don't..._ After that there was silence but for the usual comings and goings of the department.

Although they all kept looking at watches, and the clock on the wall, none of them could have accurately told how long they sat there. But Tim thought it must have been a long time before he finally went for coffee, because he was pretty certain Gibbs was afraid to get up and leave the room; when he returned nothing had changed. They silently drank hospital brew until they heard a familiar voice approaching, speaking quietly, and they leapt to their feet.

Brad Pitt held his hands out as he entered; he knew this lot. "He's alive," he said hastily, getting the important thing out first. An Asian doctor had entered with him, older, and shorter of stature, radiating calm capability. Behind them, Abby and Ducky crowded in, both surprisingly silent. "This is Dr Wan," Brad said. "I'll let him tell you how things are."

The surgeon had never had such an attentive audience. "Well," he began, "it could have been so much worse." Seeing their looks, he smiled thinly. "Believe me, it could. The knife was driven in with force, and fractured an upper rib. However, the rib did its job. The fractured ends gripped the knife and prevented it from penetrating further. The wound _was_ quite deep, the outer surface of the lung was nicked, but there was no atelectasis; indeed, the lung kept right on breathing as we were repairing it.

"However, the damage was done as the knife was pulled out again. Wrenched out, if you wish. Imagine holding a nail in a pair of pliers, and wrestling it free;" he mimed the action with nimble hands, "the broken rib was displaced, with consequent jagged tearing of muscle, and the breaking of many blood vessels."

"At... what?" Gibbs asked, trying to keep a lid on the irritation that always surged to the surface when anyone used medical or information technology terms on him.

"Atelectasis – the collapse of a lung," Brad filled in. "It didn't; Tony's not even on a ventilator."

"Special Agent DiNozzo should in time make a complete recovery," Dr Wan continued, "but it's the nature of the recovery that concerns me. Bradley tells me he's not an easy patient – that he has no idea of his own limitations. Well, he'll have to get some. We're replacing the lost blood; the prompt action of his partner and the paramedics in that respect ensured that shock was minimised. Otherwise, we'd certainly have lost him. The soft tissue damage, although severe, will heal, as will the rib, but there's no treatment but pain-killers and rest. Breathing exercises will help, as the chest wall must be kept moving, and he'll be treated with non-steroidal anti-inflammatory medication, but he must be kept from jumping out of bed and doing the tango!"

"My," Abby said, relief making her flip, "Brad really has told you all about Tony!"

"He has; and I understand that there's only so long we can keep him in here once he starts demanding to be 'let out', although we intend to keep him sedated for the next twenty-four hours, and Bradley has no intention of releasing him for at least ten days even if everything progresses satisfactorily."

Tim wondered when the surgeon had breathed, and told himself to remember to tell Jimmy he'd been right...

"But if even the sort of pain he'll be in won't make him behave, and yes, I've been warned that there are certain analgesics to be avoided, he needs to rest. Please excuse me; I'll go and see him settled. He'll be in the high dependency unit for a couple of days at least. I'm sure Bradley will be happy to answer any questions." Did they imagine a smile as he turned away?

Brad looked at them as they all began to talk at once. All except Gibbs, that was. _It's going to be down to his friends to see that he does. _He'd been about to snap, "He'll do it. He'll damn well do as I tell him," and then he'd have been informing his SFA the moment he woke up, that he'd be staying with him. It had always been what Tony needed. But he realised, on an unwelcome wave of guilt, that the ramifications of what had happened that morning were spreading like ripples in a pool. That approach would no longer work. His tough love handling of his sort-of kid wouldn't be tolerated. He didn't know what would. He stood apart from the others, lost in his thoughts. Dammit, Jethro, _what have you done_?

**AN: Not happy with the medical stuff; having a valid first aid qualification does not make me a thoracic surgeon... had to get something out to save myself from the death threats.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I apologise for the delay, had to do extra work at the museum. **

**Thanks again to all unsigned reviewers!**

**And Proseac tells me you don't call it a cafetiere, it's a bodum...**

The Wife Didn't Do IT

Chapter 7

Jimmy, Tim and Abby went in first. The young agent was poised to haul the goth back if she was too enthusiastic, but she'd heeded, wide eyed, the catalogue of Tony's injuries that the surgeon had given them, and she just stopped beside the bed and stood, silently regarding him.

He was half sitting, propped up by pillows, and with the bed-head raised; there was the usual collection of wires and tubes; a cannula into Tony's elbow delivering hydration and sedation, a large, padded dressing taped to the right side of his chest, and a couple of monitor pads on the left. There was a sphygmomanometer cuff on his left arm, which triggered and then fell silent as they stood, an O2 sensor on his finger, and a CPAP pump that hissed quietly, delivering its pressure to the mask over the patient's nose and mouth. Apart from that, the array of equipment supporting him was mercifully silent.

They didn't share their thoughts, until finally Abby said, "His colour's better than I expected. They said he's not going to die, and I believe them. But something horrible's gone on – going on; I know it has to do with the man you shot, and I'll even be patient until someone explains; but there's work to do. I'd better go do it."

"We'd better go and do it," Jimmy agreed. "I'll come back with you in the morning, Abby."

"Get some rest somewhere along the line, both of you."

"Well, yes... You too, Tim." Abby proved that it was possible to move silently in those big boots, if the occasion called for it, as she stole out, speaking briefly to Gibbs and Ducky as she did so. When she was gone, Tim picked up his friend's lax hand in both of his, confident in the knowledge that Tony didn't actually know he was doing it.

On the flagstoned walkway outside the double doors that led to the ICU, Ducky waited patiently until Gibbs finished his phone call. He'd been about to flout the rules as usual, and answer the thing in the corridor, but when he'd caught Ducky's disapproving look he'd remembered just who was a patient here right now, _ack, it shouldn't matter who_...and felt guilty. There he was, doing his own thing with no regard for anyone else again... He'd sighed and stepped out.

Ned had a lot to report. The local VPD officers had been helpful; they'd only told Julia and her mother enough to make them feel secure; that their would-be assailant was dead. They hadn't spoken of an injured federal agent. They'd asked them not to speak to the other wives, or to the media, until all the facts were known, and sent a victim support officer to help calm the frightened women. "Kind of hope you'll tell us, some time," Detective Hayles had said laconically. They'd found a camera in Carver's car and a set of binoculars; there was the imprint of a pair of shoes outside Julia's bedroom window.

They'd offered to send a team to Carver's home, and an overstretched 'Rocky' Balboa, running the case for the Director from the Navy Yard, had accepted gratefully. The report had come back of photos of Julia all over the place, hotel brochures for 'Romantic Weekends', and notebooks full of scribbling that were alternately sappy and violent. 'Uck,' had been the local man's comment.

Dorneget also had a lot to say about Jack Fulford, and although Gibbs really wanted to snap, "The facts, Dorneget," and not listen to how he'd been taken in by his sorry excuse for a friend, he forced himself to be quiet_. Now you have to show the same courtesy to DiNozzo... Susie Childs wasn't the actor, Jack was._

"Interrogating him was easy, Special Agent Gibbs... he has no spine at all. I can't relate him as a former Marine to _you_ as a former Marine."

There was a pause, as if Ned were waiting to be told off, but Gibbs said quietly, "Some guys are good with training, and under fire, physically brave, doesn't make 'em good people. We'd be out of a job else."

"Yeah," Ned's dubious voice came back. "Don't know where his physical courage went, then."

"Dorneget," Gibbs said as his enforced patience dwindled, "what have you _got_?"

There'd been a lot of bribes, and since neither Carver nor Fulford's pockets were infinite, an accountant at ONI called Frances Quinn was being paid to cook the books to fund them. Others were being blackmailed or frightened into keeping silent; Ned had passed the name of Carl Feinstein, a satellite imaging specialist to Rocky. When Balboa had spoken to him he'd nearly wept with relief; he was close to a breakdown with knowing what had happened and being afraid to speak, for fear for the safety of his children. There were others.

As to poor Susie Childs... She needed money, and the VA would have kept Cass company so she could have worked part time at least; a veterinary surgeon earns good money. But the AVMA had been told that there was an Intelligence problem with the Canadian woman, 'we can't actually _tell_ you who she has ties to, you understand...' and to keep on delaying her application for certification to work in the States. The Director himself was taking care of that particular bit of spite.

Ned had asked about the key to her house. Yes, they'd found out when Lieutenant Childs was being repatriated, and made sure the message to tell Susie was intercepted. Andrews Air Base and the hospital had both been disgusted that she hadn't been there to meet him, and only half believed she hadn't been notified. Fulford had got there and not only reinforced that opinion but taken all Cass's personal effects, including the dog-tags, with the key, from round his neck. At that point, Ned told Gibbs, he'd had to call a colleague into the room to make sure he didn't strangle the man.

Fulford had arranged for the fuel injection on Susie's mobility vehicle to be damaged during a routine oil change, and had been mad as hell when he'd heard that the VA had tracked down a cheap spare. (Rocky Balboa had had a measure of faith in human nature restored, when a senior official at the DVA had been furious about that and the matter of the hoists that Susie had had to pay to install herself. It was the department's responsibility to maintain its vehicles, and provide special equipment, he said, and not their business to debate a patient's ability to afford it. Heads would roll.)

"When Rocky told me that, I felt a bit better... but what she's been subjected to is _wicked_, Special Agent Gibbs... and there's more."

"Just Gibbs, Dorneget. Anything urgent I need to know?"

"Nothing I can't tell you later. Me and Rocky have got it...Gibbs."

The Marine managed a half-smile at the young agent's earnest pride. "Good. Keep me posted." He disconnected before Ned could answer – some things, after all, would never change. Which brought him back to the business in hand, and the guilt.

Ducky cleared his throat. "Jethro... Anthony will be fine. I know there are things about this case that are bothering you, and I don't know the whole of it. I won't press you just now. But you should know, I took great care with Lieutenant Childs, and left no stone unturned, as it were. He had been cared for with great tenderness, I can assure you. There were no pressure sores, and residue on his skin of preventative lotion. There was also emollient residue; people with extreme muscle wastage sometimes get relief from pain by lying in a warm bath, and I think Mrs Childs had used that treatment for her husband. The bruising pattern suggested only what would happen when lifting an unwilling patient; there were none round his mouth to suggest force-feeding, for instance – but there was food in his stomach."

Gibbs winced, remembering what the widow had said about coaxing her husband to eat.

"And most importantly for your case," Ducky continued obliviously, "he most certainly died of natural causes. Timothy tells me that an accusation of murder was made. Totally unfounded, I assure you – his body simply couldn't sustain itself any longer; he had a minor myocardial infarction, and it was enough to end his life." He pushed the door open, and shepherded his friend back inside.

"Aren't you coming, Duck?"

"Ah... I now have another autopsy to perform, on Marshall Carver. Mr Palmer has already left to begin. I know Tony's in good hands; I shall do my duty, get a night's sleep, and be back in the morning." He patted Gibbs' arm. "Don't distress yourself, Jethro; things will sort themselves out in time."

The Marine wanted to sneer. _That accusation of murder? That was me! In spite of Tony letting me know I was wrong! Tell me how that's going to sort itself out? _But Ducky was the most well-meaning man he knew, and anyway, look where his temper had already got him. He just nodded thoughtfully, and made his way inside.

He stood outside the room looking in for a while. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a colleague in ICU, or even the first time he'd seen Tony there. Hell, he'd woken up in one himself more than once! But it still had him stiffening his nerves before he could step into the room, so he watched. Tim was holding Tony's hand in both of his own, and telling him something. There was no response, and only the movement of the bare torso to indicate any life in the other man.

Gibbs didn't know how long McGee intended to stay like that, so he took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Tim looked over at him, patted Tony's hand and laid it carefully down again, and Gibbs thought with an affection he hoped wasn't shining sappily from his face, how the young man who wasn't a nervous probie any more would have dropped that hand in the old days. Or more likely, never have had the nerve to pick it up in the first place.

"I was telling him, Boss... I don't like seeing him like this – I don't like seeing anyone in pain, or danger, at least, not the good guys. Not the team, not him. But I'm... I'm _glad_ it hurt enough to make him yell... I was looking at the cops, and if he hadn't cried out, I wouldn't have looked back, and that knife would have come down... before I saw anything, before I could get the shot off... he'd have already been _gone_. And I wouldn't have had the justification to shoot Carver then. No matter how much I wanted to... I'd have been too late."

"You're second guessing, Tim, you know you are. You _did_ get the shot off, and you did save him."

Tim nodded with a wry smile. "Doesn't it make you feel responsible." Rhetorical. Not a real question.

"Oh yeah... don't envy you being responsible for DiNozzo..."

That broke the sombre mood and raised a smile from Tim.

"Need you to be responsible a while longer, McBigBrother." Tim's mouth dropped open. "Just filling in for him," Gibbs went on without batting an eyelid. "I need to go see Mrs Childs, before anyone else does. I owe her, and I owe him."

McGee's response was instant. "I'll stay."

"Thanks. I'll ask the nurse for a pillow or two for you on my way out."

A few minutes later he set out for Annandale for the second time that day.

NCISNCISNCIS

Susie Childs had those bright, glittering eyes again, but she still wasn't crying. "I appreciate your apology, Gibbs," (he'd asked her to drop the 'Special Agent',) "I'm grateful to you for coming all this way to tell me personally. For finding Cass, and for arranging to bring him home. I'm glad Fulford's getting what's coming to him," (she wasn't too disposed to care for Gibbs' feelings, but anyway, it was clear they'd changed,) "and I'm glad you got Carver."

Her mouth twisted, and she tried to recover herself by pouring him another mug of coffee, by now from near the bottom of the bodum, where it was good and strong. "I knew he was bothering Julia; I asked her to come and stay with me for a few days but she said it was too far from Danny... but I didn't know... never suspected he was the one responsible." There was the anger in her eyes again. "He killed them all. If I believed in hell, I guess I'd hope he rots there. For Cass. For Danny and Julia. For Jim and Nita. For Lars and Suvi. For Craig and Nicole. For Michael and Dottie. For me."

She recited the names like a benediction, and still she didn't cry. A shiver ran through Gibbs. Not knowing that Tony had used the same words earlier, he said quietly, "You're looking over the edge of the abyss. You want to die."

"I don't know." She tried to deflect. "I've got a funeral to arrange in the morning."

"After that? After the funeral?"

"I don't _know_. There's nothing to stay for; I don't know if I can get up the energy to go. I told Special Agent DiNozzo, I've not made up my mind. I think I alarmed him. He _cared_."

"Yes, he did," Gibbs agreed, his heart lurching. "What would Cass have said?" he asked her gently.

"We never talked about it... we were the golden couple. It was never going to happen." She drew a deep breath. "My Dad wasn't supposed to leave either... he wasn't supposed to go before his time. I lost them both –" and there was no self-pity in her tone, just that bleak practicality she seemed to live with, "what's to stay for when they didn't?"

"You know service personnel are encouraged to write a letter, only to be opened if they die? Did –"

She turned those miserable, bright, eyes that couldn't cry on him again. "I don't know that either, Gibbs. I never even got his dog-tags back."

"That's another thing I owe Jack Fulford for, then. I'll fix it, Mrs Childs."

"Susie."

"But you know, Susie, one thing he wouldn't have said was 'die for me'."

"I know," she said desolately. "I wanted to _live_ for him. But he's gone..."

Gibbs drained his coffee, and had an idea. "Come back to DC with me," he said suddenly, and her eyes widened with a curiosity that was the first animation he'd seen from her – unless you could count wishing a hot day in hell for Marshall Carver. "I... I'll fix for you to stay as a guest of the Army and Navy Club, and tomorrow, I'd be honoured to escort you when we bring your hero home, with full honours like he deserves."

She frowned sceptically. "He does. All right. But there's more to it than that."

Gibbs managed a small but genuine smile. "The one thing Fulford was right about is that you're a smart lady. I'll tell you when we get there, OK?"

On the way back, he told her the things she didn't know so far; including, although he wondered whether he was being wise or foolish, the sad story of young Joe Bellamy. Susannah was quiet for a moment when he finished, then said softly, "What a terrible waste of a fine young man."

"Yes, it was," Gibbs agreed, hoping that she'd make a connection in her mind. She did, but not the one he'd hoped for.

"You thought I was like her. It explains a lot." Gibbs winced, and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "You've apologised. You meant it. I've accepted, I meant it too. I _told_ you Fulford was a bastard. He's hurt you."

_More than you know, Susie... and I don't know if Tony's going to accept anything from me anymore..._

Ned rang to let Gibbs know that arrangements were being made for First Lieutenant Lucas Childs' home-coming cortege from DC to Annandale next morning; SecNav hoped Mrs Childs wouldn't mind if she was present to pay her respects.

Susannah nodded; she was pleased, she'd said hotly that morning that his country had turned its back on Cass, and now it was turning round again; she just didn't have the emotional energy to cheer about it.

The Director, Dorneget said, had demanded Mrs Childs AVMA certification be ratified _now_, and a senior supervisor had hurried back to his office to deal with it. It would be hand-delivered to NCIS in the morning.

"And Gibbs... Balboa's team have turned over Jack Fulford's house, and found the lieutenant's tags, and medals, all his personal effects..." From the other end of the phone he heard Susie's gasp as Gibbs told her. "We don't have to hold them as evidence, do we?"

"Well, yeah, we do. But we'll think of something."

"Gibbs..." Ned's tone was full of the same controlled anger as earlier.

"Spit it out, Dorneget."

"They found... you know... the farewell letter... the bastard had opened it and read it."

Gibbs smothered a cuss, and turned it into an inarticulate growl. Finally, he ground out, "Have him taken to holding, Ned, and get him locked up for the night before you kill him. Take _it_ to Abby, and ask her to work her magic. As new. She can do it."

"Will do. Oh, and McGee says DiNozzo's peaceful."

"I'm on my way."

Gibbs closed the call just as Susie realised where they were headed, and said, "Bethesda?" in surprise.

Before long, the Marine was ushering her into a quiet room, where one man read a book in the dim light as he sat guard over the other occupant.

Susannah looked at her guide in shock. "That's Agent DiNozzo! The young man who... stuck up for me this morning! What happened?"

Gibbs looked sideways at Tim, who nodded instantly and said "I'll take a break, Boss."

"You do that, Tim. Get some fresh air... or some rest." After the young man had left, he went on quietly, "Carver stabbed him when he went to arrest him." She looked at him in horror and he hurried to reassure her. "He'll be OK, but he has to rest and heal. He _did_ stick up for you, Susie. He told me I was wrong, and he mentioned that I was stupid... I wouldn't listen... Then he reminded me that he'd worked with me for thirteen years, been my second in command for most of that time, and always had my back, and if that included stopping me from driving you to suicide he'd do it."

She looked from one man to the other in bewilderment. "But why did you bring _me_ to see him? Why are you telling me? I told you you're a good man, and I saw that he is... and I'm so sorry Carver hurt him... but what _I_ decide to do isn't your problem, or his."

"He doesn't think so. We... he defended you. I took someone else's – Fulford's – word over his... I hurt him... not the first time either. He matters most to me yet I treat him like he doesn't count. I let it all go too far today... he doesn't trust I won't do it again, and I don't know if I've pushed him too far... Don't know where to go from here, but somehow I've got to make it right."

"Oh, Gibbs..." she breathed sadly, and took his hands. "You know... I understand... well, a bit anyway... but...really, you can't use me... stopping me from doing whatever I decide... even if you could do it, you can't use me as a patch for a wounded relationship. I'm not the answer."

He didn't pull his hands away. "No... I know that. That's not really what I'm trying to do here. They've found Cass's last letter, Susie, and I'll get it to you first thing tomorrow. I don't know what's in it, although I know it's going to make you sad, and sorrowful, because that's the way of these things... but it's not going to say 'die for me'... you can depend on that."

He let go of one of her hands, and reached out to take the hand of the unconscious man. "Ya know, he fought today. He fought a despicable crook when I was calling him friend; he fought a murderer, and he fought my stubbornness. He fought for you, and for justice for your hero. And justice is coming. Vengeance too, if you like. And since he was ready to fight for you, nothing wrong with me challenging you to fight for him. To live for him. For Tony, and for everyone like him, and like Cass, the ones who're ready to stand up against the wrong things, wherever they find them. However they find them." He let go of both the hands he was gripping, and held her by the shoulders. "You don't have anything to die for, Susannah. Start now, looking for something to live for."

She stood absolutely still for a moment, then turned to look down at Tony. She touched his face briefly, and as she looked back at Gibbs, the tears began to stream down her face. The Marine pulled her into his arms and she didn't resist. He held her as she sobbed her heart out; the blood pressure monitor switched on and off, and did it again ten minutes later, and it was still some minutes after that that Susie finally raised her head. She tossed back her dampened hair defiantly.

"Just... just because you've got me t... to... f-finally cry, don't think it's suddenly all fine..." she sniffed.

Tony, if he'd been conscious, would have recognised the tone in Gibbs' voice although the words were different; he'd heard it as he lay under blue lights...Now Susie heard it, unarguable, irresistible.

"It's. A. Start."

**AN: Don't know if this is too schmaltzy. And Gibbs CAN talk when he needs to.**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I have no idea if it's possible to do what SecNav did; but if she couldn't, well, she would have done if she could, so I did it.**

The Wife Didn't Do It

Chapter 8

Whatever he was lying on – yes, he was lying on something... seemed to be moving, like a boat in a heavy swell. He tried to grab onto something, anything, to stop himself from being washed overboard, but wow – it hurt. All through his torso and down to his fingertips and toes the pain danced like little lightning bolts, and he grunted and wriggled.

As soon as he did that, he found he couldn't move his hands at all. He didn't like that, and wriggled some more. Surprise, that hurt too. As if something had just sat down on his chest. Elephant. Water buffalo. Bert the hippo?

"Tony..." It wasn't Abby's voice. "Tony, just lie still. Take it easy, wake up slowly. No need to move..." He moved some more in protest, and no surprise this time, it hurt. Not all over, just concentrated in one spot. No... not spot... spot's the size of a shirt-button... this is more... Frisbee? Dinner plate? When did I last eat anyway? I'm hungry. "Tony, stop it. _DiNozzo! You listening to me?_ Come on, I'm using my best Gibbs voice here... Just lie still. Everything's fine..." OK, not Gibbs. Not a hippo. McPartner... "That's better... I _so_ do not want to be caught holding your hands, Tony." That got his attention.

"OK..." His left hand was released, and something placed in it.

"Good. Like I said, just wake up slowly. Here... can you feel that? That's the morphine pump... it's a nice kind derivative that won't send you over the rainbow, or so they tell me."

"Already there, McDucky..."

"Oh? You seem almost lucid to me... going to hang on to this hand for just a moment longer though, until I'm sure. They don't want you poking away at the dressing, you're too bruised and cut underneath it."

Sleepy eyes opened. "I'll be good." Tim patted the hand he still held, as he'd done last night, and laid it down on the covers. Tony regarded his own fingers vaguely for a moment, then his focus sharpened. "So... what did I miss?" Tim sat back in his chair and half smiled as he wondered where to begin, but the older man's eyes, alert now, flicked appraisingly over him.

"How's the pain?"

Tony resignedly clicked the dispenser. "It'll be fine in a minute. You been here all night?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well... you're wearing that sweater you keep in your go bag, so you've not been home... and you've not shaved, so you've not been to NCIS either." As Tim leaned towards him again, one of the pillows he'd propped on the back of the chair slid off and hit the floor with a soft pffut, and Tony grinned. "I rest my case."

"Gibbs dropped it in earlier... I'd tried to sponge... the blood off my shirt, but –"

_Lurch_... "Gibbs was here?"

"Three times. He brought Mrs Childs once." Tim knew more than what he'd been told, and tried for reassurance. "He said to tell you he'll be back later; he sat with you for a while this morning when I went to clean myself up, then he left to escort Mrs Childs." He watched Tony's grave reaction to that, and how he put it firmly onto the back burner to concentrate on the present.

"Escort... ah. They're taking the Lieutenant home." He nodded thoughtfully, as Tim wondered ruefully, not for the first time how his friend and bane-of-his-existence could go from deep sleep to razor sharp in under a minute. "I owe you, Tim," he finally went on quietly. "That shot... finding the Lieutenant... and investigating for me even when you knew it'd make Gibbs mad."

The younger agent almost blushed. He understood why Tony brushed compliments off with a joke or sarcasm... He shook his head. "Tony, one, _you_ told me where to find the Lieutenant. Two, if I'd thought you were wrong I'd have said so, but I'd still have investigated just so we'd know one way or the other."

"I didn't think of that at the time, just didn't want you to get into trouble. But yeah... I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

Tim grinned. "We're being nice to each other. Things must be bad. And three, failure was _not_ an option with that shot. You didn't see that knife hovering over your back." He told Tony what he'd said to Gibbs the previous evening, and Tony automatically put his hand up to the bandage on his chest. Tim didn't try to stop him, just warned him softly to be careful.

"Mmm..." Tony said after a while, "I see. No wonder you were hanging on to my hands. _Nice_ Gibbs voice though... so what's the damage?"

Tim told him, in detail. "The surgeon explained to Ducky that since one rib was already displaced, they moved that to repair your lung, rather than break another one. But that caused more tissue damage, Tony. They've done all the repairs they can ," he finished, "and yes, they do expect you to make a complete recovery. But –"

"There's always a but," Tony groaned.

"You know what I'm going to say. You have to _rest_. Brad told the surgeon –"

"That you'd get out of bed and do the tango," Commander Pitt's voice said from the doorway. "Good morning, Tony. Can't say I ever wanted to see you anywhere but the barbeque on our back deck... how are you feeling?"

"Hi, Brad. Fine." Brad just gave him a look. "OK, sore. Really sore. And weak as a pot of Earl Gray." Brad grinned unkindly. "Happy now?"

Brad shook his head, and his smile softened. "Course not, but it might make you believe what Agent McGee's trying to tell you. The fastest way back into the field is rest until I say otherwise. Not the tango."

Tony pouted, but it was a pretty weary excuse for his usual effort. "All right, all right, no tango."

"Glad that's settled. Now, I'm going to send Special Agent McGee out and Nurse Siversen in to check your dressing and make sure you're comfortable, and then he can come back in while you try a bit of breakfast if you want to. I'll scrounge some for him as well, then he goes home for some sleep, while you get some here. Understood?"

"Yes, Doctor," they chorused meekly.

Nurse Siversen, who preferred to be called Karin, was tall, Nordic looking, and cheerful. "If you want to sit up more, or lie down more, call me. I'm strong enough to heave you about, you don't do it yourself. If you don't call me, I'll get mad."

"That's told me..."

"Too right." When she was done with checking him over, including changing the dressing, she sat the bed up more. "Breakfast?"

Over toast, which Tim buttered and Tony made a good job of, left handed, _'I'll try one, you eat the rest',_ he wasn't that hungry that he wanted to make himself sick, a few unanswered questions were disposed of, while the injured man carefully avoided the elephant that he thought only he knew was sitting on the end of his bed.

"Gibbs arrested Jack Fulford, and Ned made him very miserable, apparently," Tim grinned. "The barman at the Army Navy Club told Dorny they'd loved the free floorshow. Ned took him back while everyone else came here... The things the guy had done..."

Fulford had admitted to reading Cass's final message to his wife to see if there was anything in it he could use to make her feel worse. Gibbs, Dorneget (who'd threatened Fulford with unthinkable consequences if he ever said anything), Abby, and now Tim and Tony were all agreed that that was never going to be mentioned in any report anywhere. Abby was making the letter look untouched, and it would be quietly put back with the rest of the Lieutenant's effects. Susie would never know.

"You'd have been proud of young Neddy, Tony." The SFA grinned at the idea of his not-yet-forty friend referring to anyone else as young. "He got him to admit he'd bribed and threatened mid-ranking officials at the DVA so that word of the widows' evidence never got as far as their superiors, who'd never heard of it until NCIS told them."

"What was Carver's hold over him?"

"Blackmail over some info he stole years ago – Carver had a large stake in the company that wanted it. Fulford never knew until the blackmail began that it was Carver who paid him for the information, and had him by the nuts from that day on. Told Ned how much he hated the guy – smooth as slug-trail on the phone, he said, but borderline nut-case face to face. When he was told he was dead, he laughed."

Tony shook his head. "Did Gibbs speak to him?"

"No. He told me he wasn't going to either." Tony was tiring, but he saw something in Tim's expression that told him he could see the elephant too. "He said he had better things to do."

"You said... you said he brought Susie Childs here. D'you know why?"

Tim looked down at his hands, then looked his friend in the eyes. "Yes, I do. I shouldn't, but I do..."

He'd gone down to the vending machine for coffee, but it was being re-stocked, so he turned back, thinking he'd doze in the waiting area. The two nurses on duty had looked at his blood-stained shirt and tired eyes, and taken pity on him. He'd sat with them conversing quietly for a while, as they'd made him a cup from their own supply, but hadn't wanted to stay too long as they were on duty. So was he in a way.

He'd heard what Gibbs and Susie were saying as he approached; he hadn't wanted to eavesdrop, but, "Tony, I could no more have stopped myself than eat my laptop. He told her she shouldn't die for her husband, but live for him, and for you, and all the people who try to do good in the world. She cried for a while, and I think maybe he persuaded her... and I waited out there not knowing whether to go in or not, so I stood where Gibbs could see me. So I wasn't eavesdropping any longer..."

Tony smiled and nodded. He wanted to tell Tim he was too honest for his own good, but it wouldn't do for everyone to be as devious as him.

"After a while, he told her that she'd given her husband the best life he could have had – I guess Ducky had told him his autopsy conclusions – and she cried again and said that she couldn't put him in residential care, but that if she had done, maybe her father would still be alive. Gibbs said that was second guessing, and if we all did it, there'd be so much inertia around that the world would slow down and stop, which was good for Gibbs, I thought, and she managed a smile. He said that her Dad could have died next time he lifted the shopping, or mowed the lawn. 'Deal with what you know, Susie. Come on, you need a good night's sleep, got a big day tomorrow.' They started to come out of the room, and he actually patted my shoulder. 'Get some sleep if you can, Tim. I'll bring your spare clothes in the morning.' And he did. You were still asleep, and like I said, he said to make sure you knew he'd be back."

Tim took a deep breath. Elephant time. "He's been kind of anxious about you ever since you and he went your separate ways yesterday. When he phoned, and when he got back. Kept asking how you were. I don't..."

"You don't want to be nosy, but you're wondering how bad the disagreement was. Bad. I'm glad he did the right thing for Susie, because he did the _wrong _thing yesterday, steaming in there and accusing her of murder on Jack Fulford's say-so." His voice went almost to a whisper. "And refusing to listen to me..."

"Tony... I'm sure he regrets it... he was worried about you."

"Tim, he used the _s_ word! But he keeps doing it, shutting me out, I mean, and I really don't think I can deal if he does it again."

"I think he's not been coping as well as he thinks, with Ziva going... and you haven't had the... I don't know... the heart to absorb his temper the way you usually do. You know... when you weren't sleeping..."

Tony grimaced. "Yeah, you and Delilah started talking about hallucinations, and the next thing I knew I thought I was having them. Sent me haring off to Baltimore..."

"Maybe..." Tim said carefully, "he thought if it was OK for you to go off doing something independently, it was all right for him too?" He waited for the explosion, realizing too late that he wasn't supposed to cause them, and getting ready to calm his friend or call that nice nurse. "I'm sorry, Tony... I didn't mean –"

"Hey, I know. But you're a rotten devil's advocate! I'd never done it before... Gibbs knew when I said I was fine, that I wasn't, and he was never far away. He was waiting for me to tell him, and I just wanted to know I wasn't going crazy before I _did_ tell him. Besides, McUpright, I knew, and he knew, that you'd tell him. It's understood. You don't lie."

"Oh." There was silence for a moment. "What will you do?"

"Depends on him." Another, longer silence. "I... won't leave the team... leave you... like Ziva did, Tim. I'll always be around..."

"You're not saying always be on the team though."

"I don't know what I'm saying... You look beat, Tim."

"So do you."

"I've got an excuse. Look, don't worry. Go home, get some rest. I'll sleep until he gets here."

Tim nodded. There wasn't anything more to be said. He heard his friend mutter "Thanks, Tim..." sleepily; a brief hand-clasp, and he left, his heart somewhere in his boots.

NCISNCISNCIS

He came awake slowly again. Somebody had lowered the bed as he slept. Not wood shavings, or bourbon, or bengay liniment, but... Some time in the past, Shannon had lined Gibbs' hanging closet with sandalwood paper, and although Tony wasn't mean – or foolish – enough to suggest that Gibbs still wore the same suits, when one came out, there was that light, pleasant smell. It would be the black one today. He felt a sharp, _unpleasant_ stab at his heart as he recalled smelling it once before, standing in the new Director's office as he tore the team apart. He wasn't even aware of the small frown that furrowed up the bridge of his nose, but Gibbs was.

"DiNozzo? Tony? You awake? Are you in pain?"

Well yes, he was now he was conscious, and not just the physical one in his chest. "It's not too bad, Boss..." He groped around for the analgesic pump with his left hand.

"I'll get it. Nurse Karin said I wasn't to let you do anything."

Tony opened his eyes as the device was placed into his left hand, much as McGee had done earlier, but this time, he didn't use it. It might be better to know what it was like without it, or how would he know how well he was healing?

Gibbs said carefully, "You know they say use it before you need it. It's easier to knock the pain on the head before it gets too strong."

Tony didn't want to start right out arguing, so he nodded wryly and clicked the pad. Gibbs the mother hen was difficult to resist.

"Ya want to sit up a bit?"

"Yeah... difficult to talk lying down."

"No – don't try to do it yourself, Nurse Karin's gonna kill me. Here..." Gibbs pushed the button until the bed head had come up to forty-five degrees, while Tony just lay there and tried to enjoy the ride, then stopped. "There. That's as high as I was told I should put it."

"Thanks." Tony felt he ought to say something. This was awful; his Boss talking in stilted, awkward sentences, about nothing much, while he forced himself to say anything at all, because once he started, what the hell was going to come out? "You need coffee, Boss."

"Just had some. I'll get more later. Tony..."

His SFA just watched him mournfully, and waited.

"Tony... I tried to apologise. Couldn't really find the words, and maybe it wasn't the right time... you didn't want the apology, but you did want some other things. Can we talk about that? Are you all right to talk?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm good, Boss." He sounded anything but.

"Did a lot of talking to Susie Childs in the official car... We made a good cortege for the Lieutenant, humvees as well as limousines; escorted him to the funeral director's chapel in Annandale. SecNav was with us in her official car... She says his promotion was going through when he was invalided out, so she's pushed it. He'll be remembered as Captain Childs. Susie says she's glad of the recognition for him, although the extra pension doesn't matter, nothing could buy him back. The funeral's in ten days time; Colonel Guthrie's coming back from Bosnia for it. She also said his ashes would be buried in Annandale beside her father. After the way he was treated she was screwed if Arlington was getting him. Susie asked me to say she's sorry she can't wait until you're better, she'd have liked to."

"That's OK," Tony said. What he thought was_, I'll be there_. "So, what did you talk to Susie about?"

"You know damn well, Tony. You. I did more listening than talking anyway. Told her what you'd said; told her about a few of the times I... broke rule one before... she said you were pretty forgiving. She asked me why this time was different. The last straw. And... I knew, Tony. Told her I didn't, maybe it was just you'd had enough, we'd lost another member of the team we all cared for, and things were more difficult, and all that, and although it was the truth, it wasn't what made it different. I just couldn't bring myself to say it, and I knew I'd have to be saying it to you."

Tony lay back against his pillows and frowned. "It's been worse lately, sure. But Ziva leaving wasn't the cause of all this. We were dealing with that."

"I know. The cause was Jack Fulford. He keeps asking for me, wants to talk. I sent word I'd got something more important to do." He sighed from the bottom of his boots. "I listened to him; he knew which buttons to push from our tours together, and he pushed them without conscience. I'll tell you some time if you're interested, but they're not important right now, and in the end they're no excuse."

Tony looked at him in astonishment; he hadn't been expecting this degree of frankness, and he really didn't like to see Gibbs twisting himself up and suffering like this. He almost wanted to blurt out, '_It's OK, Boss, everything's fine, don't go on beating yourself up, I understand, we'll get there.' _But how would that help? He'd simply be sitting at his desk, when he got back there, waiting for the sword of Damocles to crash down. Hopefully it'd only get his computer, but he didn't have that kind of luck. He'd be the one skewered if – when – it all went south again, not Gibbs. He clamped his jaws together.

"I took his word. I listened to him when I hadn't seen or heard from him since I retired from the Corps. I took his word. I accused an innocent woman of murder... and when you called me out on it, I still took his word over yours. That's what I couldn't tell Mrs Childs... that's the difference, not losing Ziva. I took his word. And you deserve better. Dammit, you deserve better."

The long, calm look Tony gave him told him that was all fine and dandy, but he wasn't impressed.

**AN: And I thought this was going to be the last chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Well, before beginning I'm saying I think this is the last chapter; I wonder if I'll say that at the end.**

**I don't remember which episode, and to whom, Gibbs made the admission that he'd attempted suicide but his gun jammed. So I can't tell you how Tony knows... maybe Abby knew, and told Tony on an inebriated movie night?**

**I'm sorry for the delay – this chapter has given me so much trouble... don't like? Please be nice about it!**

The Wife Didn't Do It

Chapter 9

Gibbs stared, completely taken aback. He'd admitted to what he'd done... wasn't that what Tony wanted? Why was he giving him that look? What _did_ he want, blood? His stare became a glare, and he found himself heading towards his default setting – being right and yelling if that wasn't clearly understood. Maybe he should storm out and go for coffee. He hauled back; DiNozzo's expression had gone from exasperated, through despairing to pained; the younger man was ill, remember, and he watched him wince as he took a deep breath.

"You've got that look on your face, Boss..." Tony drew another long, cautious breath. "You're going defensive on me. I've not opened my mouth, yet." Another pause, while he reached down into himself for some mental stamina, since he was severely lacking in the physical stuff right now, and Gibbs also drew a deep breath although he had no idea what either of them was going to say. "Gibbs, I _know_ what you _did_, I was there for a lot of it. I understood what was happening before _you_ did. What I don't understand is _why_?"

Gibbs wasn't sure if it was the question or the tone in the enquirer's voice that floored him the most. Why...?

Tony could see there was no answer forthcoming; he could feel the pull of sleep at the edges of his consciousness, but he had to give Gibbs something to think about, since what he'd said yesterday had had no effect. He'd known since then, and realised it more since talking to Tim, that whatever happened, he was absolutely done with the status quo.

_Be fair, Anthony, he's had no time to think about that – mind on other more important things. _

No, Anthony argued back, if you go on saying 'more important' you're going to go on believing the same thing he does, that everything else _is _more important than you, and the 'you deserve better' is so many words, three to be precise, and doesn't count for diddley squat. And what'll you do then?

Tony didn't know. _If I stop hanging on to the belief that keeps me here? That somewhere underneath he does care about me? I keep telling myself that he does... I hang onto the things that make me believe... but do they really mean anything? Do I read too much in because I need to? Does he just throw the odd crumb out to keep me in line? Screwed if I know. I can't go on with it like this, anyway._

Quit that, Anthony said sharply. You've been in contact with the abyss too much lately... you know you'd never actually do it, so stop being melodramatic. Don't go there.

_I'm not. All the things that have happened over the years, I never got close... but I do understand the appeal. Al of this... the abyss is what it's all been about. _He began to drift, thinking about it all. _Susannah really intended to, I think... but she was talked out of it. By Gibbs, who should have known better in the first place, because he tried. All those years ago. Couldn't blame him any more than I'd have blamed Susie... glad they didn't though. Poor Joe... he did it. And that jerk Fulford, who threatened it but didn't have the guts. Don't put me in there. Life's better than the alternative; there's always a chance to make something good of it, d o some good, even though it sucks right now..._

Get you, Anthony said derisively. Sententious or what? You sound like the g'damn Lone Ranger or something. Enough of the martyr complex already.And you haven't answered the question. What _are_ you going to do?

_I dunno. That's up to Gibbs._

_Gibbs! _Tony's eyes flew open; he couldn't remember closing them. The bright daylight showed that the day was much further advanced, and the chair beside his bed was empty. He didn't know what to make of that. Except that life sucked, just as he'd said.

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs nodded to the technician as the interview came to a close, and the recording stopped. "Hmmph. Nice work, Dorneget. Good interview."

Ned nodded deprecatingly. "It wasn't difficult, Gibbs, he was too terrified of you to put up much of a fight."

"Well, ya asked all the right questions, didn't leave anything out. And ya kept him scared enough to keep talking. Ya did well."

Dorneget went all 'aw, shucks'. "Thanks, Gibbs."

As the Marine trudged wearily over to the holding section, he asked himself why he could hand out praise to a rookie like Dorneget, and found it so damn difficult to say anything to Tony. Right now, he was finding it impossible to know what to say to his second at all, although the pain in the guy's eyes was like a knife in his gut, a long, sharp finger of accusation poking and prodding at him.

"He'll sleep for a while, I think," Nurse Karin had said; "he used the analgesic pump while you were there, and the mix we're using is mildly sedative too. He needs rest more than anything."

Gibbs knew that, but couldn't blame the concerned nurse for pushing the point. "I'll go get on with a few things," he'd said. "Will ya tell him when he wakes up that I'll be back as soon as I can?" Karin had told him sure, and he'd left, with the intention of doing what he'd said he wasn't going to do.

Fulford leapt to his feet as he saw Gibbs come to a halt the other side of the bars. "Jethro! Thank goodness you're here! I keep telling them that kid had me saying things I didn't mean! You understand... you've been interrogated... _I've_ never even been stuck in an interrogation room before, I didn't know how to deal with it! I want to take it back... I was forced to do the things I did! I never killed anybody! I didn't know what Carver had done!"

Gibbs stood and said nothing, as Fulford alternately justified and pleaded. The guy was still trying to push his buttons; yes, he'd been interrogated, and it had been nothing like sitting across a table from a clever young American agent who never laid a hand on you, and a bottle of water at your elbow, being filmed for your own protection. _You have no idea what interrogation's like, Jack, and I'm not going to take the time to tell you. _Never killed anyone... he was accessory after the fact to six murders, and could have been responsible for the death of Susie Childs... but none of that was uppermost in Gibbs' mind. He'd come here to ask himself one question.

Why... Jethro, why _did_ you take this jellyfish's word over Tony's?

Tony had asked it, before sinking back into an exhausted and unhappy sleep. Now, Gibbs struggled to answer. No, he hadn't known what the guy was then, but it was no excuse. Those thirteen years of Tony's should have counted for something. For everything. Why didn't they? Why?

There was no answer to be found here; he spun on his heel and walked away, with Jack Fulford's ranting growing fainter behind him.

By the time he'd spoken to the Director, reassured Abby that she'd be able to see Tony soon, checked that McGee really had gone home to get some rest, and returned to Bethesda, Gibbs had come to no further conclusions. He sat down on a convenient bench in the fresh air, and idly watched koi and frogs doing what koi and frogs did in a nearby pool. He dangled his clasped hands between his knees, and thought...

The only thing he could say for certain was that he hadn't a leg to stand on; Tony was right to have got mad, to be feeling the way he was, to be asking questions Gibbs couldn't answer... He'd nearly lost him last night, OK, so that couldn't be laid at his door, but it did remind him rather sharply that he could still lose him, if Tony decided to walk.

Did he want that? Never in a million years, the mere thought clutched at his guts and squeezed hard. So why did he persist in having these idiot times when he treated his Senior Agent, for hell sakes, like he couldn't be trusted with a bag of jelly do'nuts? McGee too, he thought with a guilty twinge. The younger agent was brilliant, and loyal, and yet only got less of the 'my way or the highway' snarl because Tony ran the most blatant, grinning, insolent interference. They were like a pair of unruly, unholy brothers half the time... which made him, what?

He didn't always act like that, after all, he told himself. In between, didn't he show Tony that he cared for him? The cowboy steaks? The bourbon in the basement and the door that was always open? Which was all very easy for his SFA to believe if the next day he was excluding the guy from his plans... what did Tony say? 'Say you trust me then act as if you don't'... no excuses, Jethro, that's what you did. And not the first time. _Act first, think later. I don't have to explain myself._

He was a good leader, wasn't he? His team got the results... the terrible twins had stayed with him all this time, when both of them should, for their own sakes, have been on their way long ago. Vance seemed content with things as they were, but if he were to move on, they could have another director sweeping in, labelling the two of them wasted resources, and moving them on to higher things whether any of them liked it or not.

Maybe he wasn't such a good leader as he'd thought... yet they chose to follow – Tony's phrase again. OK, good at the Boss thing... _bad_ at the interpersonal thing – had been, he'd always known it really, since losing his girls. He didn't want to deal with his own emotions, so he walked all over everyone else's. _Selfish, Jethro? Inconsiderate, arrogant?_ He watched the frogs and fishes, his soul cringing.

Maybe that was part of the why... but he wasn't about to admit that to DiNozzo. _Hey – there you go again. If you don't, don't expect to keep him. _And if Tony quit, it wouldn't be long before Tim told him, in his impeccably educated English, exactly what he could do with his refusal to open his damn mouth, and took off to be SFA wherever Tony had ended up as leader.

Well... he could either sit here beating himself up, or get on up to ICU and let Tony do it.

The room was empty, and Gibbs stopped on the threshold in sudden panic. He put a hand out to lean on the door-frame, and it was like that that Nurse Karin, about to go off duty, found him a moment later. "It's OK," she told him soothingly, "he's been moved to his own room in the step-down area. They want to get him out of bed for a few minutes, so they've got two hefty orderlies making sure he doesn't do the tango." Gibbs smiled in spite of himself.

He knew instantly which room he'd find Tony in; Brad Pitt was emerging from the doorway as he approached.

"Gibbs... "

"How is he, Doc?"

"Subdued. He walked round a bit, with help – did fine, he's resting again now. Says he's not in much pain, and his lungs certainly aren't causing any problems. Something's on his mind though... Miss Sciuto rang to see if she could visit, and he asked us to tell her he was sleeping, and to come this evening. I thought those two were BFFs."

Gibbs didn't know what BFF stood for, but he took a guess and didn't ask. "Is it OK for me to see him?"

"Sure..."

Tony was sitting in the chair beside his bed, a blanket over his knees and a warm towelling robe over his gown, gazing out of the window. He looked round as Gibbs entered.

"Boss... hear I fell asleep on you. Sorry..."

"You went out like a light. Must have needed it. Did Nurse Karin tell you I asked her to say I'd be back?"

"Oh yeah... I sure miss Karin..." He grimaced. "I've got Patrick and Charles now... Did you go back to the Yard?"

"Yeah. I went to see Fulford. Said I wouldn't, but I needed the answer to your question. Why."

Tony was puzzled more than angry. "And you thought _Fulford_ could answer it?"

"Nah. I hoped I could by looking at him. I couldn't. Still trying." He looked closely at Tony. "What?"

"I... I've been sitting here trying to figure out our relationship. You're not actually old enough to be my father... I'm not gay, so it's sure as hell not unrequited lust... we're not military, so it's not CO and loyal recruit. Mentor and mentee... yeah, but it doesn't explain it all. And when this kinda thing happens, it doesn't explain anything at all! I think you care about me, and then you convince me that I have no value at all. Is it me? Is it all in my mind?"

Gibbs pulled the room's spare chair close, and said very quietly, "The first one's the closest, Tony."

Tony looked at him in honest bafflement. "Then... why? Which is the truth? You and me and Tim, we're family, but you just have these mad moments when you put your head down and charge off without us, or... or you just let us think we mean something to you, to keep us happy, but when it comes to the crunch, you figure you work better on your own? That our help's not worth the effort?" He took the plunge. "Yesterday morning... you came in with bastard mode written all over you. I invited you to explain; you wouldn't. And not in the car going to Annandale either. If you had, I could have talked you _down_ before any of this blew _up_! You know I could have! And looking back on it, there's no reason at all why you couldn't have told us. It wasn't a secret... just you doing your 'I don't have to explain myself to anybody.' Turns out you'd had your buttons pushed – Ned told Tim about Joe Bellamy, and he told me. But that's no excuse not to involve us just because it's something you don't want to talk about."

"No," Gibbs admitted, "it's not."

"It's not the first time you've pushed me out, Boss." Gibbs noted the change of pronoun. This was so intensely personal and painful for the younger man; Gibbs felt all of the second B for making it happen. "But... it _has _to be the last."

"It will be." Tony blinked, not sure he'd heard right, and not knowing what it actually meant. "I understand. I pushed you too far. I did all the things you said I did. And if I do it again, that's you finished with me, because you'll never trust my word again."

"That's how it feels." Gibbs sighed softly. "Not saying I'd throw a tantrum and storm off, Boss. Guess... I'd just shrug, think 'told you so', go on doing my job without any heart for it, until I got killed or Vance found me somewhere else to be. Then I'd be gone, one way or another."

" Ack, _Tony_... You know I don't want that to happen. You know I'm not going to let it."

"_Can_ you do that?"

At that moment Gibbs remembered, of all things, the frogs in the pond outside. "D'you remember Aesop's fables?" he said suddenly.

"Sure... which one?"

"A frog and a mouse... only this is the Arab version... A scorpion wants to cross a river, because there's a forest fire coming. He asks a big bull-frog to take him across."

"And the frog says no way – you'll sting me to death," Tony recalled.

"The scorpion says no, no, if I do that, I'll drown – so the frog thinks he must be safe, and lets the scorpion jump on his back. Half-way across, the scorpion can't restrain himself any longer, and sinks his sting into the frog's neck. As they both begin to sink to their deaths, the frog asks _why_..."

The ghost of a gleam came into Tony's eyes. He didn't see where this was going, but the Boss was doing some lateral thinking. And although he'd never have come out and said so, the fact that the Boss was thinking about it at all gave Tony hope. He completed the tale. "And the scorpion says he has to be true to his nature. Kind of a problem there, Boss. The moral of the tale is that people can't change what they are. And also, that people who associate with other people who do things they don't like have only themselves to blame when bad things happen. How's that help us?"

Gibbs reached across, took Tony's hand in both of his, and gripped it as Tim had done, before laying it back down and looking him in the eyes. "You're not a frog, Tony. And however it looks right now, I'm not a scorpion. You'll say actions speak louder than words, but I can learn from my mistakes. However I might behave to the rest of the world, and yeah, half of the time I think most of them aren't worth a spit except the victims, I was wrong to treat you that way. You _do_ deserve better. And you mean too much to me for me not to prove it. Can't put it plainer than that." He looked at his watch. "9th October. Check me on it a year from today. Uh... deal?" He offered his hand tentatively.

Tony nodded, a slow smile building in his eyes. "Deal," he said, grasping the hand. "Cowboy steaks, a year from today. I'll bring the beer."

NCISNCISNCIS

Captain Lucas Childs was laid to rest beside his father-in-law; Tony was there, as he'd vowed to be; wheel-chair bound for now, and pushed around by Gibbs, in spite of Tim offering.

Susie considered returning to Canada but decided it would be too far away from Cass and her dad. She went to work as a veterinarian within the farming community around Annandale, and joined forces with two of the other widows to open a riding for the disabled centre. She was contented enough, although she doubted she would ever be truly happy, but she no longer thought of suicide.

Julia Hamlyn, who never knew she had it in her until she tried, wrote a calm, factual, heartbreaking and successful book telling the whole story.

Lieutenant JG Felix Sobel was promoted to Lieutenant, and Bud Roberts spent the next six months fighting off poachers for his services.

Jack Fulford was sentenced to life imprisonment. He was not the only person to be sent down for his part in the murders.

Tony returned to desk duty after four weeks, and field work after seven. Gibbs still swings between second B and Oscar the Grouch. On the surface, nothing seems to have changed; but the MCRT know different.

The End

**Still not completely happy, especially with the ending, but hey, we got there. Thanks to all who stuck with it!**


End file.
